The End is the Beginning: Immortals Arc
by SlyStrukk
Summary: Jack isn’t the only member of Torchwood with restorative powers. At least, not anymore. How will Ianto handle a second chance at life, especially when he has no idea what brought him back? Jack/Ianto—Post COE SLASH.
1. Prologue: Waiting For

**Summary**: Jack isn't the only Torchwood member with restorative powers. At least, not anymore. Jack/Ianto—Post COE.

Rating: R++ overall, this individual chapter…. PG-13ish?

**Warnings for this chapter**: Language, some minor times jumps and a whole lot angst. Also, plenty of Gwen (I think that should be warning, lol), but that will change later—I'm not the biggest fan of hers, but I'm attempting to give her justice. Let me know how I do.

**Disclaimer**: In no way, shape, or form do I claim any ownership over the Torchwood/Doctor Who Universe. This is a slash fanfiction. Don't like it? Don't read it!

**Author's note**: Because Ianto Jones can't stay dead. And fanfiction is denial's best weapon.

Also, this is a prologue, so it will be rather short. I have a few more chapters written, and I can already see this going over 50,000 words easily. Feedback would be lovely, however.

**IMPORTANT**: Jack leaves immediately after the death of his godson, not after six months. Also, this isn't a 'fix it' story in the strictest sense of the word, as COE did _happen_… I'm just continuing the story ^_^

Thank you to my lovely beta, **Vittani**, for encouraging me with this story and correcting some truly horrendous grammar. Love ya!

**Prologue: Waiting for…**

Another day had passed.

Another twenty-four hours, another 1440 minutes, another 86,460 seconds.

But Ianto Jones still lay dead.

And since there were only so many times he could visit the drawer containing his lover's cold body without losing his mind, Jack left Earth. He left the entire tiny planet behind, and felt oddly unapologetic at Gwen's heartbroken face, her sobs as ineffective as raindrops on a window pane. Gwen had Rhys, and a baby, and no place for Jack to ruin her life.

It was so much better to leave her—and his memories of Ianto—a thousand light years away.

If only things were so easy.

He went to Nordamib first, a planet of insurmountable pleasure and endless partying, telling himself that adventure unlimited by the boundaries of planet Earth was just what he needed. Just a pick-me-up, and things would seem better. After all, how many times had Jack lost someone he loved? Hell, in the past few years, he lost Suzie, and Tosh, _and_ Owen. Ianto was just a small name at the bottom of a very long list. And Jack would survive as he always did, and live to see another day.

No pun intended, of course.

But something was different—something had broken, and Jack couldn't quiet the grief as easily as he thought he might. Ianto was so much more than a name on the list of 'People Who Jack Has Loved and Gotten Killed.' He was the only name on a page titled 'Who Jack Harkness Would Have Traded the Universe For.' A page that his daughter and grandson, Steven, had never made it on.

And if that wasn't another thing to avoid thinking about.

He drank, and drank, and left planet Nordamib, and landed to drink again in a planet that was an orbital's version of a truck stop. Sitting in bars filled with aliens of all shapes and sizes, colors and hues, he drank so much that sometimes, if he squinted his eyes so tightly that they were nearly closed, he could almost see Ianto's face.

Ironic, considering he was drinking to forget.

Ironic, that every time he closed his eyes, he relived another memory of what was, and what could have been, saw another missed opportunity to say 'I love you,' to save the Welshman with the lively blue eyes and smart suits.

Ironic that the Doctor could have appeared wearing nothing more than a leopard print elephant thong and shimmied around the room, and Jack wouldn't have found the energy or the interest to so much as lift his head from his drink. A drink which seemed to have, at one point, been a sludge of some sort and that was probably fatal to humans. Not that it mattered.

Poison, bullets, explosions… none of that could kill him.

But Jack was beginning to wonder if a broken heart could.

* * *

Gwen's heart was broken, and Rhys was wishing something that he never thought he would ever wish for.

He was wishing that Jack Harkness had never left the planet Earth.

Two weeks had passed since the end of the world had been averted, and the 456's presence on Earth seemed to have been nearly forgotten. It was human nature, he supposed, to repress anything that showed the ugliness of them all—and those five days showed human nature to be hideous. The only true remnants of the alien's near-victory were the beginning of that prick of a Prime Minister's impeachment, and the ruins that remained of Torchwood Three. Now, he sat at home, staring blindly at a book of baby names (Welsh only, of course) while his wife oversaw the rebuilding of the Hub. Though why UNIT was even bothering was a mystery—Torchwood had be diminished to exactly one member, a member who would soon be on maternity leave.

But Gwen lingered over the sight of the explosion religiously, barking orders at people who were unlikely to heed anything she said. This was done while she repeatedly opened her phone to stare tearfully at a picture she had taken unnoticed of Ianto smiling at Jack, the both of them looking for all the world like a smitten couple. Rhys didn't know this, of course, and was wondering if his wife had become a bit OCD about her mobile.

He called her at least four times everyday, to make sure she was eating and keeping off of her feet. And he continually got an affirmative on the former, and an irritated 'I'm not even showing yet, Rhys' on the latter. But you couldn't blame a man for trying.

Most of all, however, Rhys found himself increasingly angry with the man who had left the burden of Torchwood on his wife's shoulders. Jack Harkness was a bastard, and a fool, and even bigger coward for running away from the mess he'd help to create. Well, _they_ didn't have a bloody beam of light straight out of Star Trek to run away from Earth and Gwen was overcome with responsibilities that were never meant to be hers.

The phone rang suddenly, and he quickly hopped up from his seat to snatch it off the wall. "Hey, love. How are you feeling? Not having any morning sickness, are you? Do you need me to bring you something? It might rain soon, did you bring your jacket—"

His diatribe of concerned questions was cut of by an enraged snarl. "I don't bloody believe it, Rhys!"

"What," he asked warily, wondering what damned Torchwood had done now. "What's going on, love?"

"They say it is going to take them another three bloody weeks to rebuild the hub! What am I supposed to do until then? I have to get things ready for Jack, and I need a place to bring Lois to so I can—"

"Wait, wait. What on earth are you going on about?" The Hub was going to take months, no _years _to rebuild. There was no way they could do all of that in three weeks. "Honey, I think that you might want to take a couple of days off… the Hub is going to be out of commission for a while, yeah? So why don't you—"

"UNIT," Gwen began in obvious forced patience, "could have this mess cleared out tomorrow if they wanted to, with the alien technology they've collected over the years. But no, they keep talking about 'protocol, protocol' and having to check off things, and I am going out of my fucking mind, Rhys! This city isn't safe without us, and I can't work in these conditions!" Pause. "Look, I'm going to call you later, I have to go skin a little smarmy bastard that's been on break for the past hour. Yes, Remington, I'm bloody talking about you, get off your lazy arse and—" Click.

Rhys stared at the phone in bemusement and slight worry, wondering if he'd just encountered his wife's first hormonal outburst.

* * *

Gwen was frustrated.

The miracle she's been waiting for had yet to occur, and the Hub was still a huge crater with no signs of getting smaller any time soon. Realistically, she was well aware that less than a month was a ridiculously short time for the damage to be reversed, but damn it, she wanted the Hub back _today_. She wanted to see her messy workspace, with the pictures of Owen and Tosh smiling down at her. She wanted Jack strutting around in his overbearing, but utterly charming, greatcoat with that suggestive smirk on his face. She wanted Ianto with his heavenly coffee, and his perfect suit, and the secret little shy smile he gave Jack when he thought she wasn't looking. But the Hub was blown to bits, Ianto was dead, and Jack was gone.

But all wasn't lost.

It wouldn't be as long as she could get the Hub rebuilt. She had already been in contact with Lois Habiba, who was somewhat reluctantly considering a career at Torchwood. Gwen was positive Lois would be a member of the team in no time, if she only had a way to truly introduce Lois to Torchwood (though the girl had gotten quite the crash course during that five day crisis). And that way was the Hub.

Not to mention the fact that she was pretty sure, no she _knew_, that Jack would not be able to stay away for long if the Hub was returned to its former glory. Gwen knew him well enough to know that he would somehow be able to sense the moment the last piece of metal was put into place and would find his way back to Earth. Back to her, and Torchwood.

And, of course, there was Ianto.

Ianto deserved to be in the place where he's spent so much of his life, the place that he'd put so much of his life _into_. More than any of them, except for Jack perhaps, the Hub had truly been a home to Ianto—a place that had seen his best and worst, the place where the young man's love for Jack had developed. Ianto should not be put in some temporary holding drawer to be forgotten. No. That was just not acceptable.

Tears stung her vision and a sob caught in her throat, begging to be released.

She wanted to bring Ianto home, to lay him to rest next to Owen and Tosh—and she suddenly realized that the latter two's bodies must have been incinerated in the fire.

Gwen lost her battle with the tears and began to sob bitterly, staring at the sky. _Jack, how dare you leave me, you bastard. _

_Ianto, how dare you leave Jack. How dare you?_

_----------------------  
_

**Three weeks later**

**-------------------  
**

Gwen had expected to feel a sense of satisfaction, a glimmer of rightness as she stood in the newly-restored Hub. But she felt none of that.

No, she felt angry and oddly resentful at the pristine replica of the headquarters, a replica that had everything in it except for what she needed. There were no memories here, no smell of fresh coffee and whatever it was that Ianto used to feed Myfanwy. There was no cheer, and every surface seemed to gleam at her harshly, too new to be the same table that Owen used to lean against when he would make passes at her, or the floor that Tosh would always drop her pins onto.

It was quiet, soundless as a grave, and Gwen shivered with the realization that it was a _grave_—Ianto's grave. He had be delivered yesterday, and Gwen remembered that way she shuddered and shrank back she saw that his body was perfectly preserved, looking for all the world as if he had only died yesterday. It felt like yesterday, to her. Gwen wondered if it felt the same to Jack, wherever he was. Probably so, for all that he might be trying to forget.

Her phone rang and she was snapped out of her thoughts, answering with a tired, "Yes, I've eaten lunch, Rhys."

"Um, excuse me. Is this Gwen?"

Gwen colored, silently cursing the fact that she hadn't even bothered to see who was calling. "Yes, this is she. Who am I speaking to?"

There was a long pause. "It's Rhiannon Davies, Ianto's sister."

Gwen stilled, and the silence of the Hub was never more present. She wanted to say something, perhaps an awkward 'How are you doing?' her mouth dried and no words would come out. Why was Rhiannon calling her, the woman who 'didn't know her brother' at all?

After another moment, the Rhiannon's voice came out hesitantly. "I—You said I could call, any time."

"Of course, of course you can! But why…" _Why are you calling me? _Gwen heard the sound of children laughing, of a little girl, and suddenly remembered cradling Mica in her arms as she ran desperately for the girl's life. Her throat became even drier, if such a thing were possible.

"There, well, the thing is—A week ago, on the telly, I heard that the… bodies were finally declared safe to be released. And—well, I've been waiting for…" Gwen heard a choked sob and waited with a sinking stomach. "But no one has contacted me. Mother's going spare, she just wants him to be buried."

Oh, shite. "Rhiannon, I'm so sorry. Things have been just terrible lately, and I've been so busy, see, and it's just—" There really were no excuses.

"Do, do you have him then?"

Finally, something she had done right. "Yes, of course. Don't worry about the funeral, all has be taken care of and—"

"_You've buried him_?" It would have been funny, in any other circumstance, to hear a voice so shrill.

Not sure what had gotten the woman so upset, Gwen responded with a careful, "We've put him to rest, Rhiannon, Torchwood, I mean." Rhiannon only knew a bit about Torchwood, just enough to hate them. But Gwen had done right by Ianto, she had given him the resting place she knew he would have wanted. He was in the Hub, as he should be.

"And without his family's consent? Without allowing us to even see the body, or have a proper funeral? Have you lost your bloody mind? I haven't so much a shred of proof that my little brother is dead other than your fucking _word_, and I've been waiting to bury him—" Another sob was choked out. "You bring him to us. You bring him to us _now_."

Well, this was quite unusual. Gwen wondered if any Torchwood member had ever had family to demand rights to burial. Most were estranged from their relatives, and how extraordinary that Ianto seemed to have kept a remotely close relationship with his sister, enough so for her to be angry with Gwen's actions. "But, but Torchwood has always taken—"

"I could give a bloody fuck about Torchwood! He died because your lot, and I want him buried next to his father!"

"I'm… Rhiannon, that's just not possible I'm sorr—"

"I'm not making a request. You have him taken to Morris Mortuary in two days, or _so help me God woman_, I will hunt you down." Click.

Gwen sat down slowly, holding onto the phone with both hands to quell her shaking. After a while, that may have been two minutes or two hours, she release the death grip on her phone and dialed another number.

"Rhys, I have a problem."

-------------------------

Gwen sat at home, curled up on a comfy couch she hadn't rested on properly in a couple weeks. A cup of warm, fragrant tea rested in the hand that wasn't covered with the warm throw resting on her shoulders. She was leaning against Rhys, his hand on her stomach, and earnest eyes staring at her.

"You have to do it, Gwen."

She shook her head in denial, dark locks brushing her cheeks. "I can't."

"But you have to. It's his family, they have the right."

"But…" she whispered in denial. "Torchwood has always…"

"This hasn't got a thing to do with Torchwood. Cardiff doesn't have a Torchwood now, and probably won't for a long time."

"Don't say that!" She snapped out. "I've just got to get us back on our feet. Lois is coming to the Hub in a few days, I know I'll be able to convince her once she sees it."

Rhys raised an eyebrow. "And that is going to be Torchwood Three? A pregnant woman and a girl who has less experience in dealing with aliens than I do?"

"She does have experience! And I'm just barely pregnant."

"There is no 'barely pregnant,' Gwen. There is up the duff, and not up the duff. _You_ are up the duff." He sighed when he saw that stubborn glint in her eyes, and knew that was a fight to be continued later. "And what has this got to do with Ianto?"

"I…" her mouth moved silently for a moment.

"You what?" He prompted.

"I can't do it Rhys. I can't give him to them… it's against protocol."

"And weren't you the woman who was shouting to the heavens 'damn protocol' not so long ago, then?"

She was silent for a long while, before her eyes stared up at him, glimmering with tears. "It's just, Ianto deserves to be in the Hub, not rotting in some… some filthy grave with dirt and worms and maggots and what if I find a way to bring him back and I can't because he's all rotted and I can't let him go… I just can't." She finally choked out, sobbing.

Rhys held on to Gwen tightly, feeling her shaking in his arms and wishing that there was something he could do. There was nothing.

"His family has the right, Gwen," He repeated softly after some time. "You can't keep waiting for a miracle to happen, it's not right."

Eventually, she stopped crying and nodded slowly, disentangling herself from the covers and him before booting up the computer.

"What are you doing?

"Looking up Morris Mortuary."

* * *

The day Ianto was buried, it didn't rain.

It wasn't cloudy, or dreary, or even the least bit overcast.

It was unapologetically sunny, and Gwen thought that it was the worst irony of all. There hadn't been such a beautiful day in nearly four weeks. And yet, perhaps this was fitting, as Ianto had always shone so brightly at Torchwood, even when tragedy threatened to tear him apart, even when no one was looking to see just how bright he was.

She hated Jack for not being here.

She loved Rhys for knowing that she had to come alone.

The priest was speaking, offering words of condolences and praying to a God she wasn't sure she believed in any longer and she could see the figure of Rhiannon, sobbing against her husband. They were near the front, and Gwen stood a far ways back, surprised that she hadn't be ran out of the service with harsh words and more than a few fists. Instead, Rhiannon had merely turned around and given her a slightly nod of greeting, her teary eyes watching carefully as little Mica ran to give Gwen a hug. Now the small girl was much more subdued, held in father's arms, tears sliding down a face too small and innocent to truly understand with death meant.

The casket was closed. They had wrongfully assumed that the state of the body was quite unpleasant and Gwen hadn't bothered to correct them. Call her selfish if you want, but she couldn't bear to see his face again.

Now they were lowering the casket down, and she couldn't look as the family whispered goodbye. Gwen left before it even hit the ground.

---------------------------------

Two weeks later, Ianto Jones awoke with a start, seven feet below the earth.

* * *

**TBC**


	2. Chapter One: And then Came the Miracle

**Summary**: Jack isn't the only Torchwood member with restorative powers. At least, not anymore. Jack/Ianto—Post COE.

**Rating**: R++ overall, this individual chapter…. PG-15ish?

**Warnings for this chapter**: An almost het scene, cuz Jack's a bit of an ass… sorry guys. Also, profanity and a touch of horror in the beginning.

**Disclaimer**: In no way, shape, or form do I claim any ownership over the Torchwood/Doctor Who Universe. This is a slash fanfiction. Don't like it? Don't read it!

**Author's note**: Ianto in this chapter, yay! Unfortunately, I do feel as if some of this chapter may be filler. But stick with the story, and things will begin to get a bit more interesting. Thanks to my wonderful beta, **Vittani**, for helping me out here. Also, excuse my sad attempts at Welsh—I'm sure it's pretty incomprehensible. If anyone knows a reliable Welsh translation site, please send the link my way. It would be much appreciated ^_^.

Some Jack!bashing, because really, we all know that Ianto was never shown the appreciation that he deserved. That will all change in this story. *grins*

And I had to re-watch Ianto's death to get this chapter just right… so I'm completely traumatized again. *sniffle*

Things will be speeding up quite nicely in the next couple of chapters, and Torchwood will slowly regain its feet. If only we could find that pesky Captain Jack Harkness…

Enjoy!

**Chapter One: And then Came the Miracle**

There was bad.

Then there was _bad_.

Bad was being trapped in the sewers with three Weevils and no weapons.

_Bad_ was waking up in a soundless, sightless box, unable to breathe.

The latter was a situation Ianto currently found himself in, gasping desperately as his hands scraped at the fabric covered wood above him. Which wasn't budging an inch, and Ianto _couldn't _breathe.

There were no questions of 'how' or 'why' (because, certainly, oxygen deprivation wasn't conducive to higher order thinking), just an overwhelming need to get out of the small space and see light. But his movements were slowing and his head felt as if it was filled with white noise and he knew he was dying. As he lost strength, Ianto waited for the release, for the moment when it would stop hurting. But it didn't come. Instead, his lungs burned and burned until it felt as if there were fire in them, and had he had breath, he would have screamed.

Who ever said suffocating was like going to sleep only said so because it had never happened to them.

Strength came back slowly, and Ianto continued to hammer away at the lid, fabric pealing away to reveal harsh and unmoving wood. His fingers felt as if they were breaking, but that wasn't so terrible in comparison to chest, which felt as if a sledge hammer was repeatedly slamming into it, robbing him of breath. Why hadn't it stopped? How was he still alive? There was no air… _no air_.

Oh, god, he couldn't breathe.

Someway, somehow, Ianto was able get one of his feet braced tightly against the top of the box, digging into his chest harshly as he tried to gain enough momentum to truly smash in the lid. But the box was so small and narrow that it was nearly impossible.

Like a coffin.

And that was Ianto's last coherent thought for a long while.

When the wood splintered under his foot after what seemed like breathless, endless years of kicking and kicking and kicking, and Ianto felt a moment of relief.

Then the dirt poured in.

* * *

"And this, young lady, is the holding cells," Gwen explained cheerfully, feeding off of the wide-eyed fascination Lois was exuding. "Where we keep all the baddies, and the not-so-baddies when we think they're bad until we find out whether or not they're actually… bad."

That got her a blink.

Gwen laughed. "Um, well, maybe that explanation was a bit—"

"No, no! I understood that, scarily enough. I just didn't know that Torchwood could do that. Keep people imprisoned, I mean." Lois shivered slightly, eyes darkening as she no doubt remembered her own incarceration at the hands of the British Government.

"Officially, there's a lot of red tape involved when it comes to holding prisoners. Technically, we aren't able to hold humans, though if the human is somehow infected with an alien 'something,' we do whatever we need to. UNIT—who I hope you never have to deal with—are more of the 'anti-alien' military, while Torchwood are more like… policemen and women dealing with the threat of malevolent aliens, I suppose. But UNIT is a bit, well, controlling, and their idea of policing leaves a bit to be desired. We try to deal with them as little as possible. So, more often than not, we do what we want."

Lois raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'do what you want?' What about the rights of the people… or aliens… we capture?"

Gwen hid a smile. Not only had Lois said 'we,' she clearly thought of the aliens as deserving of the same rights as humans. Lois was perfect for this.

"Well, let it me put it to you this way. Torchwood's motto is 'If it's alien, it's ours.' We don't answer to anyone when it comes to things of an extraterrestrial nature—we are who everyone else answers to. Except for UNIT, but we try to stay out of their way and they try to stay out of ours."

"But I thought UNIT helped to rebuild the Hub?"

"They did. It was one of those rare cases," Gwen said with a wink, in an extraordinarily good mood now that it seemed things were finally coming together. She ushered Lois out of the empty (for now) holding cells, allowing herself to dream about Torchwood 3's rise-from-the-ashes. So to speak.

After reaching her workspace, Gwen leaned against the counter, turning to face the young woman, dark eyes were wide with wonder and excitement. "So, what do you think? Considering a career in Torchwood?"

Lois didn't even pause. "Yes, of course! It's… it's not what I expected." The girl smiled softly. "It's wonderful."

Staring around at the empty Hub, Gwen couldn't repress the slightly pain in her heart. "Yes, it is."

That had gone wonderfully. Lois had left, promising to come back in the next couple of days to fill out her paperwork and Gwen could already tell that, with a bit of training, Lois would become a force to be reckoned with in Torchwood.

Her phone began to ring and she picked it up halfway through the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, darling. You done meeting with Lois?"

Gwen smiled, even though she knew Rhys couldn't see her. "Oh, was brilliant, Rhys, just brilliant. She was so excited about everything, the cutest little thing, just so interested and wanting to know about every little detail. I have a good feeling about this. Torchwood will be up and running in no time!"

"But don't you need at least three members to run a Torchwood branch? And really, there needs to be at least two other members besides Lois as you're going to be out of the office in a couple of months, yeah?" Rhys voice came out of the phone apologetically, almost as if he was sorry for what he was say. He wasn't. Rhys was ecstatic at the idea of Gwen being out of Torchwood for at least five months.

Gwen glowered. "Yes, thank you for ruining my good mood," She snapped out, irritated. Rhys had been like this for weeks, always bringing her back to reality with a crash. Couldn't he just allow her a bit of daydreaming? Didn't she deserve a bit of a reprieve from the gloom and doom after Jack leaving and Ianto…

Ianto.

"What, love?"

Gwen snapped out of her thoughts, realizing that she'd said that last bit out loud. She sighed and reached for a warm cup of coffee that wasn't there. That wouldn't ever be there.

"Nothing. I'm on my way home." Click.

* * *

She was an especially beautiful alien, part of the rare humanoid Nyaridds and she moved in a way that was pure sexuality. Standing in his room, leaning against the bedpost ideally as she undid her tunic, she was a vision and Jack allowed himself to be taken in. The sway of her hips, the movement of her braided hair on small shoulders… it was all very arousing. It had be a while since he had been with a woman, he had nearly forgot how enticing someone so much smaller than yourself could be.

Jack had also missed the novelty of all alien races, the oddness of their looks combined with something altogether familiar. She could have walked the streets of Earth had it not been for her coloring. Her hair was blue, and her eyes even bluer…. Even her skin was softly flushed with azure.

Jack had a bit of a thing for blue.

With every unraveled lacing, another inch of skin was bared, until she stood confidently with a naked bosom. Her fingers idly traced on the soft skin of her stomach and she sighed in pleasure. "Will you join me, Captain?" She spoke in her native language, the words both guttural and smooth.

It was a language he knew well.

Jack flashed his best lecherous grin, and wondered why it was so difficult to remember how to do that. "Only if you go on with the show, lovely. Let's get you out of those uncomfortable clothes."

She smirked as she shimmied out of her skirt, and Jack couldn't help but think that she was doing it all wrong. First, her lips were too full and blue, and they didn't quirk up on one side and her eyes didn't stare at him with wry affection… there was only lust. Paltry and insignificant lust.

But since when had lust become insignificant to him?

Jack pushed the sense of wrongness out of his mind, and focused on the task at hand. So to speak.

"And now?" She asked throatily, without a scrap of cloth on her. She was so unabashed, laying herself on the bed, limbs spread and showing all that she had to offer. That was wrong too—there was no mystery or intrigue, just blatant and overt sexuality.

Forgetting about Ianto would be so much easier if she wasn't doing everything _wrong_.

Growling at himself, Jack crossed the room in two paces, pulling the Nyaridd from the bed and kissing her harshly. It was all bite and tongue and teeth and she was _still_ doing it wrong, her two tongues flicking at his like a kitten while she made the most obnoxious moaning noises.

"Mmm, Captain."

God, where had that gag gone?

Her hand, deft and fine-fingered, ran down the line of his chest as they kissed, reaching to cup his crotch with an odd giggle. A giggle that stopped short when she didn't find she was looking for and they both froze.

"What's this, now?" Her face was mocking, mouth drawn into a sneer as her eyebrows rose. And Jack noticed she wasn't nearly as beautiful as he had thought she was. Certainly not a comparison to—no, not going there. "Humans _are_ supposed to get erect, aren't they?" The look on her face said she already knew the answer.

How humiliating.

"What can I say, darling?" Jack snarled, pushing her away. "You're just not doing it for me."

"The little human can't perform?" She cackled, reaching for his crotch again, and Jack wondered how he could have ever seen her as beautiful. "You know, it's extra if I have to put this much effort into it." And, of course, she was a prostitute. Just wonderful.

"Get out," he snapped coldly.

"Aw, baby, what's wrong? Thinking about your boyfriend?" Logically, he knew it was a generic insult for her people—they were notoriously homophobic, one of the only alien races to have such prejudices. Jack knew she didn't anything about him. And she certainly didn't know Ianto.

But that logical part of Jack's brain took a vacation and he found himself hitting her harder than he'd ever hit an unarmed woman before, yanking her up by the wrist and forcibly dragging her across the room. "I said… get _out_." Throwing her as soon as he was able to get the door open with her struggling, Jack didn't even blink before throwing her cloths out after her, paying no mind to the whore's spitting curses.

He slammed the door shut just as she rose up again, claws extended. "You limp-dick bastard!"

"Skank!" He yelled back just as loudly through the closed door. Jack could hear her stumping down the hallway, and hoped she didn't have any brothers close-by. Male Nyaridds were a bitch to kill.

Jack sat down on the bed, closing his eyes, only to see a familiar face in the back of his eyelids staring at him accusingly.

Blue.

Ianto's eyes had been so blue.

----------------------------------

Well.

That hadn't gone as planned.

Turns out, the skank (Jack had never bothered to learn her name) _did_ have a couple of brothers nearby—and the fight hadn't gone very well. If Jack wasn't immortal, the fist through his chest surely would have done it… and that blow to the head would have too, now that he thought about it. Still, he ended the fight as victor, though it had taken him a pathetically long time to get the upper hand. And he hadn't even managed to kill any of them.

God, he was just glad that John hadn't been here to see it. The smug little bastard would have laughed himself silly.

"Shameful, how off the game you are," a voice crowed from behind him, the slightly British accent oozing with amusement. "Where's Eyecandy when you need 'im?"

No.

_No_.

God, what had he done to deserve this?

Jack should have realized that one shouldn't speak of the devil lest you meet him face-to-face.

_Or face to fist_, he thought, as John floored him with one well-aimed punch.

* * *

Really, had it not been for the lack of air, Ianto would have stayed in that narrow box. The weight of the earth seemed impenetrable, and had he been able to die of suffocation, it would have surely happened when he screamed, his mouth filling with soil. But the pressure wouldn't stop, and the fire in his lungs had turned into a slow, roasting burn that caused tracks of tears to fall down his face.

So Ianto did the only thing he could do.

He began to dig.

The first handful of soil was soft and slightly wet, yielding nothing but more pressure on his chest. But he kept on, eyes and mouth closed. Eventually, he was able to sit up in the box (he could not even _think_ the word coffin) pressed at all sides by impassable dirt. It somehow made the inability to breathe worse, and Ianto was little more than a panicked thing clawing desperately for the surface.

Only his desperation to end the flames in lungs kept him going for what felt like years, his fingers moving inch by inch and his legs pushing him upwards with all their strength. When the fingertips of Ianto's left hand met the still night air, he could have sobbed in relief. The last part of it was the hardest, when his arms breached the ground and he somehow found the strength to hoist himself up, finally freeing his body from the dampened earth.

And then there was air, blessed and sweet air that flowed into his deflated lungs so swiftly that he began to cough and choke harshly, unable to calm his desperation for oxygen, but unable to breathe it in while hyperventilating.

It took Ianto a while to calm his breathing, mouth open and eyes closed. He imagined he must have painted a ridiculous picture, akin to a fish out of water. Well, if fish often wore suits and were covered in dirt.

There was dirt in his mouth, and he was too tired spit it out. Laying flat on his back, Ianto could still feel the minute stinging in his fingers, and didn't even bother to open his eyes to take a look at them—torn fingernails had always gotten to him, oddly enough. Cool, slick blades of grass caressed his palms and finally, curiosity won over.

Where in the hell was he?

Opening his eyes cautiously, Ianto sat up almost immediately, cursing in Welsh as the soil clinging to his forehead and cheekbones fell into his eyes. He rubbed his hands over them vigorously, but considering how filthy they were, it didn't seem to do much good. _Well, this is a conundrum, isn't it? _Finally, after his tears expelled most of the filthy from his eyes and he participated in some very vigorous blinking, Ianto's eyes were able to open without complete agony.

When his blurred sight cleared, he saw a long stretch of grass all around him punctuated with lines of varying stones. It took him another second to understand it all.

A graveyard.

Which could only mean that the hole he'd climbed out of was… a grave.

In a detached type of daze, Ianto stood and inspected the grave he'd climbed out of, from the overturned dirt to the moderate sized stone at the head of it.

_Ianto Jones (1983-2009) _

_Erioed at bod 'n anghofiedig_ (1)

No. He couldn't have been… this couldn't be…

"No," Ianto choked out, stumbling backwards only to flinch when bump into the statue of an angel, wings spread as its arms lifted up in supplication. No, this didn't make any sense! How in hell had he ended up here… he… wasn't dead…

"_It's too late, I breathed the air." Jack's hands were holding onto his shoulders to tightly, almost as if Jack believed his grip was the only thing that was keeping Ianto here. Maybe it was._

"_Then I take it back, alright? I take it all back! But not him!" Jack's voice was pleading to the 456, in a way that Ianto had never heard before, but he knew that those pleas would fall on deaf ears. And he was surprisingly numb with it all. Was this how it was going to end?_

…_._

Gasping, Ianto shook his head as memories dragged him under, memories that he would rather forget. No, no, that had never happened. It couldn't have, because he wasn't dead. He pressed his shaking hands together, looking at the dirt covered and bloody fingers. No. He wasn't dead.

….

"_No. No no no no no! Ianto, Ianto?!"_

…_._

"_A thousands year time, you won't remember me." Ianto's voice sounded so far away, even to his own ears, but Jack's teary eyes kept him tethered, made him want to stay. _

_God, he wanted to stay. _

"_Yes I will. I promise. I will."_

…_._

_And then there was darkness._

He was whispering to himself when he came to, eyes clenched shut as tears made their way down his face stubbornly. It had all come back. The children. The 456. The Hub's destruction. Being on the run. The twelve children in 1965. Jack's lies. Facing the 456 with their ultimatum.

Their failure.

Oh, God, Jack had looked so heartbroken. Ianto wondered if the man had even stayed long enough to see his funeral. Probably not. He knew Jack well enough to know that the man had probably done a runner the moment the world looked as if it wasn't about to collapse. Which it wasn't, considering the quiet, tranquil air of the graveyard. And Ianto wondered how the world had got on in his absence—if the UK had given up the children after all.

But these were questions that would be left unanswered for the moment, Ianto reflected as he slowly stood again, very careful not to look at his tombstone again, lest he lose the relative calm he had at the moment.

Now, time to get out of this blasted necropolis and see what exactly had happened in the past couple of days.

-------------------------------

Ianto walked down a quiet, residential streets, the cool air allowing him to clear his head for the moment, and truly began to reflect on what waking up in his own coffin meant. The fact that he must look truly ridiculous in a funeral suit covered in dirt still hadn't fully registered, and he only knew he was heading somewhere far away from that damned graveyard, even if he didn't know where that 'somewhere' might be. It seemed to late enough that everyone was tucked into bed, luckily enough.

Fighting the residual panic from having to climb his way out of his own grave, Ianto began to mentally catalogue all that he knew about his situation similarly to the way he would organize the archives. The scientist in him went into overdrive as his mind raced, happy to think of something other than how he'd clawed his way out of a coffin.

Fact One: He died in that room with the 456, or at least had made a rather convincing dead man for the others to bury him. But why hadn't he been put into a Torchwood drawer, if that were the case?

The answer was rather obvious. The Hub must not have been rebuilt, and perhaps the entirety of Torchwood Three had been shut down. And wouldn't that be ironic—Ianto was the sole survivor of Canary Warf (excluding Lisa, but he wasn't going near that topic presently), only to be moved to a Torchwood that had been obliterated by the government, of all things.

If that didn't about sum up his luck, nothing would. Moving on, then.

Fact Two: The world didn't seem to have ended. But what facts did he have to support that hypothesis?

He could only assume that as they'd been able to arrange a funeral for him, the outcome of the 456's demands had ended in their favor—laying the dead to rest would be the last thing on anyone's mind if ten percent of the world's children had gotten 'vaccinated' overnight.

And the fact the neighborhoods he passed on his way seemed rather normal (and by normal, Ianto meant no enraged crowd of parents seeking out destruction on every corner) was a testament that Torchwood—Jack—must have found a solution at the last moment. This was both comforting and upsetting to think about, because he wondered what Jack had to sacrifice for this victory, and if this sacrifice had finally been too much.

Thoughts absorbed in Jack, which was not an odd occurrence, Ianto's feet moved him towards a familiar location, a location he knew to be destroyed. He wasn't sure how long he walked, but his feet were aching and tired (they didn't exactly worry about the comfort of a corpse's footwear) and the breeze of the night made him shiver, little particle of dirt falling to the ground as he shook slightly. And as he stopped before in the entrance of the Hub, in shock, Ianto wondered how much time had truly passed since he'd… been away.

The crater was gone, the sight looking as if the explosion that tore Jack apart had never happened.

Fact Three: The Hub wasn't destroyed after all.

_How in the world_, Ianto thought as he entered through the tourist shop (which wasn't locked, and why on Earth wasn't it locked? How many times did he have to tell them that people would snoop?). The entrance was the same, as well as the codes, and yet he could tell that it was new, as it had a gleam that he had never seen before.

Ianto felt a chill pass through him. How long had he been dead, for the Hub to be completely rebuilt? Long enough for Gwen to have her child? Long enough for that child to grow up? Hell, long enough for Torchwood to have an entirely new staff?

Shaking his head as he began his descent, Ianto forced himself to think of that terrifying concept if and when it became reality.

Whoever was employed by Torchwood now had clearly left for the day, as all of the lights save the automatic ones were off. Good, because he really needed a shower, and he was hardly up to explaining that he wasn't an alien, and no, he wasn't trying to destroy the world. As he passed by the work areas, a few pictures caught his eye. Pictures of him, Jack, Gwen, Tosh, and Owen. Pictures of his team. The relief set in so suddenly that Ianto felt slightly weak. At least it wasn't 2072, or something equally disturbing.

So then.

Showers.

He didn't look at himself in the mirrors before getting into the showers, not yet (perhaps a part of him was afraid that something in his reflection would just scream _not right_), but he was quick to strip off the suit he was wearing, not even sparing it a glance as he put it in one of the handy 'hazardous clothing' bags near the lockers. It would be getting burned soon.

Owning the suit he wore to his funeral was a bit too morbid, even for him.

Ianto had soon discovered, after first being employed by Torchwood One, that few things were better than taking a long shower when you were absolutely filthy. And he had never been so disgustingly dirty before in his life. The water felt heavenly. It didn't matter, for the moment, that it was several degrees colder than he usually preferred his showers, or that the soil on him was quickly turning to sludgy mud, dropping off of his slender, toned body in thick rivets of brown. And of course, Ianto would manfully deny the shriek he made when a beetle dropped from the vicinity of his hair with a plop on the damp tiled floor. He didn't move to wash himself, not yet, just content with the water beating down on him, relaxing sore and tense muscles.

Of course, his thoughts were drawn towards Jack once more.

Ianto could tell that he had been right when he figured that Jack had left already—the man's office had been completely barren.

It burned, and stung, and hurt in ways the Ianto couldn't really think of, knowing that Jack wasn't near him any longer. Knowing that, in all likelihood, Jack wasn't even in this solar system.

Ianto's frowned as he pumped shampoo out of the handy dispensers, still absorbed in this thoughts.

He wasn't conceited enough think that his death alone would break the proud Captain, even though it hurt to think that Jack might have dismissed his demise so quickly. Ianto had been around enough, however, to see how quickly Jack was able to put grief behind him. Ianto didn't believe himself to be memorable. Because really, what did he have to offer a man that would never die, a man from the 51st century, a former Time Agent, con-artist, and all around adventurous flirt? What had he ever had to offer Jack, really? A warm body? The best coffee in three galaxies (Jack's words, not his own)? Knowing when not to ask questions when others would have (rightfully so) demanded an explanation?

Raising his hands to rub the shampoo into his hair in a way that could almost be considered harsh, Ianto shuddered and pretended that his tears were from the soapy water falling down his face.

He was just 'Eye Candy,' the 'part time shag' that had only became full-time because Jack was too busy to find someone else to sleep with. Ianto was the man Jack would never be part of a couple for. The man that was too dull, too serious, too _something _to be more than a nameless face in another thousand years, no matter what Jack promised as he lay dying in his arms. What else could he be, when Jack couldn't even say the three words Ianto wanted to hear most as he breathed his last?

Ianto had lived in denial far too long with one Captain Jack Harkness, and while he knew the man had felt _something_ for him, it certainly was not love.

Which led him to Fact Four: Ianto Jones had never been more to Jack than 'convenient.'

And, of course, there was the irrevocable Fact Five: That if Jack were to walk through that door this very moment, Ianto would be unable to hold onto to the anger and betrayal the caused sobs to build in his chest. And, as always, Ianto loved him still.

TBC

Endnotes:

_Erioed at bod 'n anghofiedig_ (1)—Welsh for 'Never to be forgotten.'


	3. Chapter Two: One, Two, Three Immortals

**Summary**: Jack isn't the only Torchwood member with restorative powers. At least, not anymore. Jack/Ianto—Post COE.

**Rating**: R++ overall, this individual chapter…. PG-15ish?

**Warnings for this chapter**: Profanity, violence, angst… and that's it for now?

**Disclaimer**: In no way, shape, or form do I claim any ownership over the Torchwood/Doctor Who Universe. This is a slash fanfiction. Don't like it? Don't read it!

**Author's note**: Thanks to all of the wonderful reviewers who gave me feedback on this story—I love you guys!

I wasn't sure if I was going to add John in this ficlet, but he asked so nicely that I couldn't help it ^_^. Plus, we all know that Jack needs a firm kick in the arse to get back to Earth… and John's going to supply the foot, hehe. So plenty of Jack/John interaction in this chapter. And not like that you pervs!

Btw, thanks to **Vittani** for being the wonderful Beta that she is and for encouraging me with this fic.

A few of you may be mad with what I'm going to do with John's character, but this _is_ a fanfiction, and I promise that whatever I do is because of plot. Not just because I want to. Okay, maybe a _little_ because I want to.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Two: One, Two, Three Immortals**

John still punched with the force the three Weevils, and Jack hit the wall before he was able to stop himself. His responding hit was just as hard, a vicious uppercut to John's chin that sent the smaller man flying in a heap. John stood slowly, careless, thumbing a bit of blood that had leaked out of the corner of his mouth with a bemused expression he knew all too well.

Then Jack got a good look at John and gaped.

"What in the hell did you do," Jack growled out harshly, unable to believe his eyes. Maybe one too many blows to the head in such a short amount of time was actually doing him some damage. Because there was no way, _no way_, that John Hart was standing in front of him looking so young, younger than Jack had known him to be in _years_, dressed his jeans, black shirt, and customary coat. Because that would mean something that Jack couldn't accept. So he snarked. "Went under the 51st century knife and got yourself a facelift?" But they both knew that wasn't the case—there was no surgery that could reverse aging so drastically, leaving behind a face that couldn't be more than 26 years old.

"What, Jackie? Think you've got the corner market on eternal youth?"

Jack resisted the urge to smash John's pretty head into a wall, because honestly, he wasn't sure he could win a fight with the man right now. Though the thought of bludgeoning the smug look off the ex-Time Agent's face was unbelievably tempting.

"What are you talking about? We both know that whatever trick you're playing now is just a pretty illusion. You're not like me, John," Jack said rather nastily, knowing that the other man's aging while Jack remained young was a sore point. Not that Jack could have ever understood why—John had always been remarkably attractive, and the small signs of aging that began to crop up over the years did little to ruin that attractiveness. Jack sometimes wished he could age.

To his surprise, John merely preened, looking at Jack from underneath long eyelashes while he purred, "No, Jackie, I'm _much_ better." He then turned his body just _so_, so that the light from the planet's three moons cast an ethereal glow over the man's sharp cheekbones.

Show off.

Jack rolled his eyes. And John wondered why they could never work—as if Jack could be with someone who thought he was prettier than Jack was.

Though John was rather pretty, but not like Ian—and he was _not_ thinking of that right now.

After seeing that Jack wasn't going to take the bait, John quickly adopted a petulant expression. "Well? Aren't you going to ask? Can't say you aren't curious," John prodded like an annoying child.

"No. I'm not going to give you that much attention." Jack took a seat on one of the only standing stools in the barroom where the skank's brothers had dragged him, crossing his arms and giving John a rather exhausted look. "I don't have a team for you to threaten, I don't really give a damn if you blow this planet up, and you couldn't kill me if you tried. So why don't you run along and go torture someone who can actually die?"

John always, _always _lost his cool when Jack refused to give him any attention. He was like a spoiled child being refused his favorite toy, and always threw a tantrum. A tantrum that usually ended with blood and body parts flying, but a tantrum nonetheless.

But not this time. Now the other man merely smirked lightly as if Jack's words had no effect. It was maddening, and Jack had to wonder once more what in the hell John had done to himself. "Aw, you're no fun anymore. Can't even get a rise out of you now that Eyecandy's met his end." And before the sentence fully left John's mouth, Jack was on him, slamming the smaller man against the wall and choking him with a well-placed forearm.

"You don't get to talk about him, you hear me? You don't even get to _think_ about Ianto!" Jack was pressing onto John's neck so hard that he knew he had completely cut off the other man's breathing, but John merely stared at him calmly, an eyebrow raised.

And Jack had forgotten how flexible John could be when the man kicked out viciously, kneeing him in a very sensitive place. As he curled up, gasping out curses, John took a hand to message his bruised throat. "See, that's the problem with you, Jack. Always so quick to jump to your _lover's _defense, not knowing that you were the one to do the most damage." And before Jack could began to figure out that statement, John sighed explosively.

"Look, Jackie, I'm not here to fight with you."

Straightening as the pain in his groin subsided, Jack snorted in disbelief. When had John ever showed up to do anything but fight? "And that punch you threw was what? A lover's tap?"

"Just a little smack for old times sake, eh? Can't say that hurt you… but after the way those Nyaridds laid you out, which you had better be ashamed of, mate, your ego should be the only thing that's hurting you," John murmured slyly, looking so damn _young_ that Jack was momentarily blinded by his curiosity.

"John, what did you do?"

John stared at Jack for a moment, blue/grey eyes more mature than Jack had ever remembered them being despite his younger appearance. "I searched all over the universe, through time and space, to become immortal so that I could be a match for you. So that you have no choice but to be with me, once you realized that I was the only person you knew who would be around forever."

Perhaps he should be in shock or even horrified that John managed to find a way to become eternally young (because lets face it, John wasn't the most stable of men and few things were worse than anything that was both insane and immortal), but the man was one of the most stubborn fools he'd ever met. In the back of his mind, he always knew John would find a way to live forever—or die trying.

And now Jack only felt slightly sad for the other man, who, despite being a psychotic mass-murderer and an unrepentant loose cannon that always managed to kill Jack at least _once_ every time they met, was probably the best friend he'd ever had. Not that that said anything good about Jack.

Those five years in the time loop…

Jack shook his head. "I'm sorry, John… I can't." he said softly, feeling a brotherly affection for his ex-partner that he hadn't felt in years. Jack couldn't see himself in a relationship. Ever. Because even after a thousand years, he would still remember what he lost.

He promised to, after all.

To his surprise (yet again), John merely snickered. "Oh, don't worry, mate," he said, hand waving dismissively. "I don't want _you_, at least not anymore."

To say Jack was flabbergasted was an understatement. "W-_What_?"

John had never looked more amused. "See, the thing about immortality is this: I have forever now. And no offense mate, but I couldn't spend forever with _you_. Fifty years, sure. A hundred years, well that's a bit of a stretch. _Forever_? Not bloody likely." And disturbingly enough, something in John's eyes told Jack that he was telling the truth.

Jack shook his head in disbelief. Then he got angry. "You figure out that you don't want me _now_? After being the biggest fucking pain in my back for ten years? After you showed up on Earth with an explosive strapped to you. _Twice_. After you help my brother bury me alive for hundreds of years! What… what the hell, John!" He exploded, rage making him see red.

"You have really got to work on your anger management."

Jack snarled and slugged the smug man in the jaw, but John knew how to take a hit, and Jack wasn't gratified by the crunch of a broken jaw. Though he did split the man's full bottom lip, and Jack nearly rolled his eyes on how John made everything, even lapping up blood from a cut lip, obscene.

"And I'm supposed to believe that you just what? Decided to track me down to this septic tank of a planet to tell me that you don't want me anymore?"

"Well… yes and no." John gave a put-upon sigh and took a seat on the edge of an overturned table. "After getting the gift of eternal youth, I decided to go back to Earth. And—"

"What for," Jack interrupted. "Wanted to make a nuisance of yourself again?"

"_And_," John continued pointedly, as if Jack hadn't spoken. "Then I found out about the near miss with—what were you calling the buggers—oh, yeah the 456. And that Ey—" Jack growled and stood threateningly, he wouldn't take his ex insulting Ianto, and was a hairsbreadth away from putting the other man's newfound immortality to the test.

. "—_Ianto_ was dead. Didn't believe it at first, Jack. The little bugger had always seemed so stubborn. But I saw the grave myself and—"

"_Grave_?" Jack asked in confusion. No Torchwood member ever had a grave. They got a drawer in the Hub (or other headquarters), but no _grave_.

John quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah, grave. As in buried, six feet under. Ring any bells? You mean to say that you didn't even stick around for the funeral? Poor form, love."

"Shut up! You don't get to judge me, you bastard! You don't know—"

"Don't know what, Jackie? The way you always run away from your problems like a child? The way you sweep in and save the day, but make sure to never stick around for the aftermath? Yeah, I wouldn't know anything about," John replied with heavy sarcasm.

"You… don't have the right to judge me," Jack repeated through gritted teeth, his mind racing. Ianto had a funeral? They buried him? How could they do that? Ianto was Torchwood—Torchwood always got drawers.

He had a funeral. And Jack wasn't there.

Jack refused to show John the tears the prickled in the back of his eyes, and continued to stare down his ex with hard, flinty eyes. It hurt to think of the Welshman for even a second, and it was somehow impossible to suppress grief like he usually did. It hurt even more to think that he wasn't there when Ianto was laid to rest—that he wasn't there to prevent them from putting Ianto somewhere where he would rot and become part of the soil, where Jack could never see him again. And wasn't it morbid that, in the back of his mind, Jack had always thought that Ianto's preserved body would be at Torchwood for his viewing? It certainly wasn't healthy, to think he could gain comfort from staring at his lover's dead body, but it was all Jack had.

And now he didn't even have that.

All because Jack left before Ianto had time to get cold.

Jack didn't realize tears were sliding down his face until he heard John's astonished voice. "You actually loved him, didn't you?"

For once, Jack couldn't think of a snide comment, couldn't laugh it off, couldn't help be respond to John's question. "So… so much," he choked out hoarsely.

In his grief, he never noticed that John's split up had yet to heal.

* * *

When Gwen arrived at the Hub around noon, she immediately knew something was wrong.

The first clue was that the security system showed someone logging in around two o'clock in the morning. With Ianto's code, no less.

Then there were the dirty shoe prints leading through the headquarters. And the fact that Gwen, just by being a part of Torchwood, had developed a sixth sense about people being not where they should be, even when nothing appeared any different. And someone was here now who didn't belong.

She pulled out her gun, raising it and slowly turning as she attempted to be silent while walking on metal grating. A mental voice that sounded remarkably like Rhys scolded her for not taking her 'condition' into consideration. Gwen crushed the small voice relentlessly. She followed the remnants of dirty footsteps down to the showers, noting that whatever it was hadn't really cared much for being discovered.

Then she saw the pile of clothes. The muddy mess at the bottom of one of the stalls. But it was the clothes that caused her to freeze, her insides turning to ice. It was, underneath all of the grime and filth, a suit. A suit that she was familiar with, as suit that she had see a member of the team wear once or twice. It was Ianto's suit.

Ianto's suit was covered in dirt, and on the shower floor.

Gwen had to use all of her training, both from Torchwood and the police office, to stop herself from screaming and running for the hills. She almost frantically recalled seeing Dawn of the Dead and 28 Days Later, two movies she still hated Rhys for making her watch. But she mentally slapped herself around the head for even thinking the word 'zombie.' Zombies don't often take showers, do they?

But that was no reason to let down her guard—for all she knew, some _thing _(alien, most like) found a way to animate Ianto's body as a means of transportation. There were such aliens, though she had been grateful enough to never encounter them. Gwen shuddered at the thought, and steeled herself as she began to make her way back into the main part of the Hub. She couldn't imagine shooting something that was wearing Ianto's body, didn't even know if she _could_, but Gwen had done many things in the past year that she would have never thought she could do.

And she would make whatever this son-of-a-bitch was pay for using Ianto like this.

Gwen slowly and systematically searched every inch of the Hub, from the basement to the archives, but there was no sign of anyone—or _anything_—being there. The only place she hadn't checked was the place she had yet to step one foot in since the Hub had been rebuilt.

Jack's office.

Reluctantly, Gwen sighed and braced herself for the memories she would rather forget as she carefully made her way up to Jack's office, gun cocked and ready to be fired. She thought memories of Jack would overcome her the moment she walked into his 'personal space,' but there was nothing of Jack's here. The office was completely empty, a file cabinet in the corner and a barren desk in the middle of the room. Neither were the ones that Jack used, and Gwen was perhaps more disturbed that this room failed to remind her of Jack at all. As if Jack had never been there. As if he had never existed.

A faint sound came from underneath and Gwen flinched, hands tightening on her gun as she focused on Jack's bunker. Something was clearly in there, but she knew it would be a bad idea to confront anything there. For one, there was only one entrance/exit and whatever it was would most likely see her the moment she descended down the small steps. Then there was the fact that the place was completely tiny with metal walls, and the last thing Gwen needed were ricocheted bullets.

Knowing all of this, Gwen still made her way to the small entrance, where she could see a small amount of light. _Bad idea. This is such a bad idea_, the small, intelligent part of her hissed in warning. It was a voice Gwen grew used to ignoring.

When Gwen began to descend into the bunker, an amazing site greeted her there.

A young man was on the small cot, sleeping deeply face-down without any covering other than a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. The bunker was largely empty, with only the undressed cot and a small automatic light aiding to the dingy feel of the tiny room. But Gwen kept her eyes on the young man, who was fairly tall with a discernibly toned body underneath the clothes he was practically swimming in. His hair was dark, only a shade or so from black, and was cut in what must have once been a short cut with slightly longer hair on the top. The hair seemed to have grown out of the style, however, hanging over the young man's ears. His skin was pale, from what Gwen could see, and the hand that hung over the side of the tiny cot was fine-boned and graceful.

Gwen was not in a position to see his face, but she was fairly certain it was a face she knew.

The grip on her gun was sweaty, and she went a bit closer to the bed, heart pounding. The young man gave a small sighing noise, and turned his head towards her, still asleep.

Despite the fact that she was expecting it, Gwen nearly dropped her gun in shock.

It was… Ianto.

Ianto, with hair an inch or so longer than she'd ever known him to have that fell over his forehead. Ianto, with one of the cutest button noses she'd ever seen, Ianto with his pouty bottom lip. Ianto, with his face relaxed and he looked so young that Gwen wanted to weep. She always forgot, with his suits and adorable attempts at professionalism in Torchwood Three's madness, that Ianto was the youngest of them. The baby of the team.

Gwen didn't even know his birthday.

But she was getting ahead of herself. This couldn't be Ianto. She was there when he was put in the ground, was there to sob over his body. This thing certainly looked like Ianto, but it couldn't be. Because if Ianto was going to miraculously come back to life, it would have been weeks ago.

The not-Ianto gave another small sigh in its sleep and Gwen lost her patience, throwing a plastic container to wake him up. He immediately shot up, almost as if he hadn't been sleep at all, staring at her blearily before his eyes widened at the sight of her gun.

"Up, against the wall." Not-Ianto didn't move, mouth open slightly. "Now!" She gestured with the gun and he quick moved towards the wall, putting up his hand in the universal 'no harm' sign.

"Gwen," not-Ianto murmured, voice thick with sleep. "What… what—"

"Quiet! Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Not-Ianto's eyebrows furrowed in a very Ianto-like expression. "Gwen," he started again tentatively. "Don't you remember me? It's Ian—"

She snarled, tears coming to her eyes. "Don't play me, don't you dare play me! Ianto is dead. Whatever you are, you're not him. So you better start explaining why I shouldn't empty a round in you."

"Gwen, it's me. I—I woke up and I was in a grave, but—"

"Stop! Just, stop," she gasped out. This couldn't be Ianto, because that meant she made him dug his way out of his own grave. And she couldn't handle that. But something in his eyes, his earnest, haunted and yet somehow innocent blue eyes, told her that this was Ianto.

But it couldn't be.

Gwen wanted it to be.

"Prove you're you," Gwen nearly whispered, tears streaming out of here eyes and down her freckled cheeks.

"And how do you want me to go about that?"

She didn't respond, cocking her gun.

Not-Ianto raised a hand in acquiesce. "Alright then. Lets see… You like your coffee extra sweet, and with lots of crème, but you pretended to drink it black so that Jack would take you seriously when you first started. Until you found out that his first cup of black coffee is for show, and that he likes it even sweater than you, that is."

She gasped out, shaking her head in denial.

Not-Ianto must have taken her gasp and encouragement, because he continued to speak. "And one time you put a 'kick me' sign on the back of Owen's chair, only to have him retaliate with an 'ask me to blow you' one on the back of your shirt. Which wouldn't have been so bad if you hadn't left the Hub to go visit Rhys at work that day."

The hands on her gun began to shake, and the tears completely clouded her vision. "I-Ianto?"

He stared at her for a moment, blue eyes far too solemn. "Gwen, I—"

She nearly knocked him over as she launched herself at him, gun dropping to the floor with a clatter. She squeeze her arms around him as tight they would go, and felt him gasp slightly at the pressure, but she couldn't find the power to ease up. Ianto was here, and he felt warm and alive and _breathing_ in her arms as she sobbed. Oh, this was real, Ianto was real.

How could this be real?

"It's alright Gwen," Ianto murmured into her hair, clearly trying to sooth her.

Gwen just cried harder.

* * *

"But… but how?" She asked finally, taking her head away from his chest and grimacing at the mess she made his shirt.

Ianto frowned. "I'm guessing you didn't have anything to do with it, then?"

Gwen shook her head dumbly.

"Then I am as in the dark as you."

"I don't understand, Ianto. How could this… how could you…"

"I'm not sure, but maybe we'll be able to find out if there was a rift spike last night. Let's go up."

Gwen followed silently, feeling as if a giant pressure had suddenly been lifted off of her. For once in the past couple of weeks, someone was telling her what to do, and it felt wonderful. And yes, Gwen was aware of the irony in that.

She couldn't help but notice how Ianto stared as he walked into the main part of the Hub. "What is it?"

He shook his head, turning back slightly to give her a small smile. "Nothing, it's just… it's all so shiny now. I could never make it look this new." Gwen smiled back tentatively at the self-depreciation in his voice.

"You were working with decades worth of grime. Besides, the fact that you stopped Owen's coffee from growing mold was more than impressive."

Ianto flashed her another smile. "True."

Ianto finally took a seat at what used to be Tosh's working station, quickly looking over the new components added to the super computer before pulling up the rift activity from last night. The nonexistent rift activity, it would seem. "This is unbelievable," he muttered. "There was absolutely no rift activity last night, not even miniscule spikes… it was still, abnormally so."

"So that means whatever brought you back has nothing to do with the rift."

"It would appear so," Ianto murmured with a slight frown. He stared blankly at the screen for several moments, and Gwen gathered her nerve.

"What… what happened? How did you… get back here?"

Ianto turned towards her and spared her a glance before looking away. "The detail are rather, well, grim. You probably don't want to know."

"Please," she almost whispered, reaching over to take one of his hands, eyes earnest. "I need to know."

So Ianto told her, watching as she blanched when he glossed over not being able to breathe and having to fight his way to the surface. And when he explained how he'd walked to the Hub, Ianto asked the question that had been plaguing him since he arrived at the new looking headquarters. "How is it that the Hub is repaired?"

Gwen didn't answer, her eyes on the floor and wide with horror.

"Gwen?" He asked kindly.

She stared up at him for a moment before choking down a sob. "It's… it's all my fault. The reason you were buried, it was because I allowed your family to have your body. Rhiannon called me, she wanted a proper… proper burial and I couldn't refuse. I'm so sorry! I didn't know." Gwen began to cry again, and Ianto gave her a light hug.

"It's alright. You couldn't have anticipated this."

"I know," she finally whispered, somewhat reluctantly. "But I can't help but feel a bit guilty."

The sat in silence for a long while, Ianto covertly yawning as Gwen stared down at her feet. "Gwen," Ianto began hesitantly, not really wanting to ask, but knowing he had to know.

"Yes?" she murmured.

"How did we manage to win against the 456?" Ianto didn't even ask where Jack was, because it was a question that didn't even merit an answer.

Gwen groaned slightly, running a hand through her hair roughly. "I was really hoping you wouldn't ask that."

* * *

_There were reasons why Jack didn't drink_, John thought as he watched his ex sobbing into the pint, whispering 'Ianto' repeatedly. John would have called him a pathetic tosser twenty minutes ago if it weren't for the fact that Jack had just lost the man his loved and clearly wasn't dealing.

And who said he was heartless?

Instead, he dragged the crying man to the space ship's shower unit (which was considered obsolete, but John had been taught a thing or two about comfort on primitive Earth, and much preferred a shower to Cryo-Clean chambers). He then put the shower on full blast, watching with almost sadistic glee as Jack shrieked and sputtered as the icy water soaked him. Needless to say, Jack was far more sober after that, though he glared at John balefully and pouted like a sulking child.

"Asshole," Jack muttered from chattering teeth. He was fucking freezing.

John handed him a towel, looking awfully amused. "I try, Jackie."

"Don't call me that," he snapped out, beginning to change out of the drenched clothes, uncaring of his nakedness. John forcibly turned his head in the other direction, unwilling to let himself be tempted. A quick screw with Jack would be lovely, but the consequences weren't worth it.

Even if Jack did have a lovely arse.

John left Jack to his changing, walking back to the front of the ship and taking a sip from Jack's mug. _Urgh, tastes like Weevil piss_, he thought in disgust. The drink had so much alcohol concentration it nearly burned off his tongue. Jack must have really been looking for oblivion to pick this—most types of liquor would be out of his system before an hour was over. This would last quite a bit longer.

All the more reason to pour the bottle down the drain.

Dressing slowly in the shower, Jack fought against tears again, not wanting to give John any more ammunition than he already had. Though the other man was being awfully nice, so nice that it was becoming disturbing and making Jack wait for the other shoe drop. Things were never so simple with that damn man… Although some of it might be genuine. John was reminding Jack of the man he'd been when they first met on another, before the Time Agency warped him and his obsession with Jack reached dangerous heights. Not that John hadn't already been psychotic when he began working as a Time Agent. No, the Agency only helped him perfect his mental instability. But John didn't seem unstable now, and Jack was beginning to wonder what John was getting out of all of this besides some really great insult material.

He was still a bit under the influence, although John's 'cure' for his hysterical crying seemed to have worked.

They were on their way out of the galaxy, to a spot Jack can hardly remember visiting due to all the drugs he'd taken on the planet. And that was just fine. A bit of oblivion was exactly what he needed right now.

Yes, because he didn't want to think about the light going out of Ianto's eyes. He didn't want to think about the young man's utter faith him, faith in Jack that had gotten him killed. He didn't want to think about what he would have sacrificed to have Ianto here with him now. Jack wiped away an errant tear, making his way to the front of the small ship.

Seeing John sitting there so composed, Jack couldn't help but snipe. "This ship is small as shit and just as fast."

John shrugged uncaringly. "It was the fastest one I could steal."

"And how many people did you have to kill to get it?"

John raised an eyebrow and Jack suddenly hated him. Only Ianto was allowed to do the Eyebrow. "Would you believe me if I said no one?"

"No," Jack said flatly, arms crossing as he sat down.

John shrugged. "Oh, well, make sure to avoid the bloodstain near the sink." As much as Jack should have been disgusted, he couldn't help but snicker. That was just so… John. The snicker turned into chuckles, the chuckles turning into belly deep laugh until tears started to stream down his face and he began to sob again, shudders wracking his body.

Oh, God, how he could he even think about laughing when Ianto was turning to dust in some grave?

"Dear gods, you are pathetic man! If I hadn't had my tear ducts removed, I would be crying out of shame. Eyecandy must have had an arse of gold to leave you that hard up. Makes me wish I would have sampled it myself!"

Jack growled like an angry beast and hit John with everything in inebriated and tear-ridden body, making the slighter man slam into the console of controls. Almost immediately, red lights began to flash as an alarm sounded, bouncing off of the small walls of the cabin. Then the ship beginning to speak in a language Jack didn't understand. Though he was pretty sure whatever it was saying had to be bad.

John began to curse loudly, and pressed a few buttons in succession, urgency in every move. As the red lights stopped flashing and the alarm ceased to sound, John turned to him in fury.

"What the bloody fuck, Jack! Try to refrain from hitting me two feet away from the bloody consoles! You trying to kill us, you idiot?!"

Jack's stare was hard. "I already told you to never speak of Ianto like that. I don't give a fuck if you call me everything under the stars, just don't open that mouth of yours to insult Ianto or I swear you'll be spitting out teeth!"

John rolled his eyes dramatically, muttering "Drama queen," before turning back to the console, trying to make sure they wouldn't crash.

Jack snarled in frustration and turned around, beginning to pace. "This is fucking insane! What in the hell am I doing here, with you of all people? I can't stand you, you've tried to either kill me or fuck me every time we meet, and you nearly killed everyone on the team. Not to mention what happened to Tosh and Owen, and I still haven't bashed in your fucking head for that. I must be out of my mind, trapped in a ship with you. This has got to be some corner of hell, I must be dead! No, because I can't believe dying would be so fucking annoying! Plus I know you're lying to me about the whole immortality thing, because hello, your lip is still busted and I really don't want to be a part of you twisted little plans again! And you—" Jack snapped with sudden fury, only to gasp and stare in confusion at the sword sticking out of his chest. Then in keeled over, and John signed in relief.

"Bloody hell, thought you would never shut up."

He returned to the controls, setting the destination to Earth while Jack was… indisposed. He changed the coordinates from Planet 142 to Earth. He wasn't dealing with a grieving Jack for much longer, and would force the man into closure if he had to.

Plus, John had… business on Earth.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter Three: Destination Earth

**Summary**: Jack isn't the only Torchwood member with restorative powers. At least, not anymore. Jack/Ianto—Post COE.

**Rating**: R++ overall, this individual chapter…. PG-15ish?

**Warnings for this chapter**: Profanity, violence, angst, John deviousness… and that's it for now?

**Disclaimer**: In no way, shape, or form do I claim any ownership over the Torchwood/Doctor Who Universe. This is a slash fanfiction. Don't like it? Don't read it!

**Author's note**: So, I was trying to figure out where this fic was going, because it started out relatively simple as a resolution to that horrible Day Four. But I'm starting to really develop a plot here, and I'm starting to see a bit of an epic. And because of that, I've started to actually think ahead, because I really want to finish this. And I can see this fic going on for a looooooong time.

And as always, thanks a bunch to my wonderful beta **Vittani**!

**I take a bit of liberty with **the Time Agency, which I know next to nothing about, so anything that seems completely out of place is something you can just consider as AU ^_^. Also, I take quite a bit of liberty with John and Jack's history.

I promise it's important to the plot.

Some more Jack/John interaction, but it won't be much longer until Jack and Ianto meet again. Promise!

Enjoy!

**Chapter Three: Destination Earth**

"There were a lot of things I loved about Ianto. His pretty words, the way he mumbled to himself in Welsh when he thought no one was around… hell, the fact that he had enough snark to kill a small child, but no matter what he told me, it would more often than not end with a cheeky 'sir.' And then let's not forget how absolutely fucking beautiful he was, with that dark hair and pale skin and blue eyes. And his lips. I loved Ianto's lips." Jack was faintly aware that his was babbling, about his recently dead lover to his psychotic ex-lover, but if figured it was all John deserved for getting him drunk and killing him for what had to be the thirtieth time.

John sat near the console (which, for some reason, he was guarding over with a protectiveness that was almost scary), leaning back against the chair and staring at Jack with rather apathetic eyes. "Uh huh."

"And while he often appeared to have complete deference, he didn't take much crap from me when it counted. He had a kind of quiet dissention, not necessarily telling me outright when I was doing something wrong, but pushing me to figure out on my own. And if he wasn't the most annoying passive-aggressive little shit at times, turning my coffee to decaf for a week until I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open, then giving me the papers he'd been after me to sign for months. So devious," Jack sighed, staring out of the small window and into space. "Why did it have to be him? It could have been anyone, but they had to take him from me. I could have gotten over it, I think, if it was someone else."

"Even that PC bitch whose arse you were after for the longest time?" John asked curiously.

Jack gave him a flat stare, too tired to rise to the bait. "Shut up, John."

They were silent for a few minutes, but of course, John couldn't keep his trap shut for long. "What? Run out of things to say about Button-Nose?" That was John's new thing since he realized that Jack would react violently to 'Eyecandy' every time. And Jack didn't bother so much, because Ianto had possessed the most adorable 'button-nose' Jack had ever seen. Which was saying plenty, considering.

"No," Jack muttered vaguely, sending John a dirty look before continuing to stare out at space. Why in the hell was this trip taking so long? It shouldn't have taken more than three days, and it was going on the fifth. Honestly, he was surprised this little rust-bucket hadn't given out on them yet. The quicker they got to Planet 142, the quicker Jack could get stoned out of his mind, and the quicker he could regain some semblance of normalcy.

Hopefully. Maybe.

Okay, it wasn't likely.

Every time it thought about Ianto, it _hurt_, like someone was grinding an unyielding knife into his heart until he cried out for a reprieve that wouldn't come. It went beyond grief, beyond sadness, beyond guilt. Ianto was the first thing he thought about when he woke up, the only thing he dreamt about when he could manage to sleep, the one thing on his mind throughout the days and nights. Ianto was there when he closed his eyes, there when they were open. He was in everything Jack had done since leaving Earth, every stupid, disgusting decision he'd made to try and assuage his guilt, to forget his love. And wasn't that telling, that Jack was trying to do the very thing he'd promised Ianto he wouldn't?

To forget.

But Jack didn't deserve to forget. Not ever, and he was regretting ever getting on this ship with John with the intention of reaching Planet 142. Jack couldn't lose himself in the paradise of the tropic, hedonistic planet, using women and men and drugs to try to wipe Ianto from his memory. It was deplorable, and beneath the man Ianto had made him into. The man Jack wasn't sure that he could be anymore without his Welshman beside him.

Just as Jack opened his mouth to tell John that the trip was off and he wanted to be dropped at the next habitable planet, his eyes widened in shock and confusion as he stared at a small, red planet they were passing by.

"… Is that Mercury?"

* * *

Ianto wished Gwen would stop staring at him.

It had been nearly a week since his mysterious 'resurrection' and he was getting things in order for his return to the world. Destroying all copies of his death certificate, speaking to his landlord about resuming his rent (with the excuse that he'd been intensive care and there hadn't been a correct body count at the scene of the chemical poisoning that Mr. Gould actually believed), and getting all of his belongings out of storage. He still hadn't spoken to his family, but how did one start such a conversation? 'Oh, hey mam, remember how I died a couple of weeks back? Funny story, really…'

That would have to wait for another couple of days.

Despite that, Ianto was trying vehemently to return to his brand of normalcy, and Gwen wouldn't stop _staring_.

She stared at with a carefulness, as if expecting him to sprout tentacles or an extra head at any given moment, or even worse, with large pitying eyes as if he were about to bawl his eyes out because of Jack's absence.

And Ianto would do neither (or at least, he dearly hoped so about the former).

Right now, she was staring at him with a frown, as he'd just politely refused to come to her home for dinner for the fifth night in a row. She was even insisting that he spend the night this time. It was becoming tiresome, placating her need to be near him in case he 'turned weird' or broke down, and besides, her cooking wasn't exactly the most appetizing.

Ianto long since deduced that Rhys was either a very brave man, or had the stomach of a goat.

"I don't want to be a burden, Gwen." _And you're smothering me. _

"But you could never be a burden! Besides, I couldn't leave you in the Hub until your flat is ready. This place is positively dreary and—"

"I've spent plenty of nights in the Hub, Gwen," Ianto said somewhat stiffly, his mind going to a place he would rather forget.

"Oh," she said after a small pause. "Of course you have." She was clearly thinking of Jack, too. "But still, it's different being here on your own and—"

"Gwen," Ianto interrupted, patience running out. "I appreciate your concern, but I can assure you that I won't drown in my sorrows if you let me out of your sight for a few hours." That was the closest Ianto had come to mention Jack since he came back, and Gwen jumped at the opportunity, her expression turning a little frosty.

"Oh? I wouldn't know from the way that you refuse to even have a conversation about Jack, much less consider contacting him. I don't understand what you're thinking—you and Jack have something good together, and you're being foolish to miss out on a chance at that."

And wasn't that funny? Gwen, the woman who still refused to see the world out of anything but rose-tinted glasses, calling _him_ foolish. "What Jack and I _had_," Ianto snapped out through gritted teeth, "is of no consequence to you. He left, Gwen, and I am not going to drag him back here without a good reason. Regardless, how would you suggest that I contact him? Send him a text message?" _Jack can run away, and I won't begrudge him that. Much._

"He left because he thought you were dead!" She exploded. "And I'm sure you could find a way if you wanted to. You know more about the Archives that anyone else here." She didn't add that she'd taken a look at his records in the week he was dead and found out that he had an IQ of 163.

"He left because he had to sacrifice his grandson to save Earth's children." Ianto fought to keep his voice even, not even responding to Gwen's illogical claim that he could somehow contact Jack, who was most likely on the other side of the universe. They didn't have that type of technology in the Archives. He'd already looked. "I'm sure he was saddened by my passing, however—"

"'Saddened by your passing'!? Bloody hell, Ianto, the man loved you! You wouldn't be so cruel as—" She stopped, clearly agitated.

And, of course, Ianto was the cruel one here. He was clearly the one who treated his lover like a 'part-time shag,' refused to be classified into a relationship, couldn't even say 'I love you,' and probably would have left him in a second had Gwen shown the slightest interest. Yes, clearly, Ianto was the guilty party, it could never be Gwen's _precious_ Captain.

"Cruel, Gwen?" Ianto choked out a bitter laugh. "You don't know the meaning of cruel. Jack never loved me. _That's_ cruel." With that, Ianto turned around and began to walk towards the office, signaling the conversation was over.

It didn't mean Ianto missed Gwen's parting statement, however. "You're delusional, Ianto. I don't think Jack ever loved anyone as much as he loved you. I hope you realize that before it's too late."

Ianto didn't began to shake with tears until he was sure she had left, crying in a leather seat that smelt nothing like Jack in an office that held nothing of the man he loved. The man he loves still.

But Ianto wouldn't be cruel as Gwen accused him of being. He wouldn't spend years looking for a way to drag Jack back here, to the scene of the worst act the man had ever been forced to commit, just because of a selfish need to be near him. He wouldn't search for Jack just to see his face, just to hear his voice, just to have Jack touch him again. Because he knew Jack would come back, if out of nothing more than a misguided sense of duty. It wouldn't be out of love. Never out of love. Affection, guilt, lust… perhaps. But Jack could find an outlet for all of those things without Ianto. He probably already had.

Ianto loosened his tie with shaky hands, undoing the first two buttons on his shirt as the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. It hurt so much without Jack here. It hurt as much as Canary Wharf, as much as Lisa, as much as Owen and Tosh, as much as the 456 stealing his breath with an airborne poison, as much as Jack holding him and pleading for him to hold on.

He feared he wasn't strong enough do what he so vehemently claimed as right, because God, he wanted to look for Jack. It had not yet been a week, but was taking all he had to hold it together. And Ianto knew that it would never get better; no, this type of pain only got worse and worse. Because his life was falling apart, and he only knew one man that could make it seem better for one moment just with a cocky smile. But Jack was far away, and Ianto didn't know how to bring him back. And he was so scared. All he could think about was the grave, and not being able to die, and the fingers that had stopped bleeding long before he reached the Hub that night. He thought about forever, and if that existed for him now, and _God_, all he wanted was for Jack to hold him.

Ianto had loved Jack with all he had, and now it was time to let him go. But was that something he could survive doing?

* * *

Ianto woke in the morning far earlier than he needed to, took a shower to wash away the gummy feeling of tears from his face, dressed in a suit no one was likely to see (he found it unlikely Gwen would swing by today), and began to tidy up. Not that there was much to clean, but Ianto liked the monotony of repetitive movements like sweeping and dusting to lull him into an almost unthinking state. Cleaning was one of the few things that could put his mind at ease, shut down the machine that ran kilometers in mere seconds, plaguing him with thoughts of 'what if' and 'if only.'

But there was only so much one could clean, and in under an hour, he'd done possibly everything he could do.

And all he could think about, as he fiddled with his tie (something he had _never_ done before), was how much he would appreciate a weevil sighting at the moment. Then he thought about Janet, and sighed sadly. She hadn't even had a chance, locked in her cell. He could only hope that she hadn't suffered any pain when the Hub exploded. Not like Jack had, Ianto thought with a shudder, recalling that Jack had told him he'd felt everything as his body was blown apart.

Ianto forcibly shook those thoughts out of his head, sitting at his (Tosh's) desk, and absentmindedly monitoring the CCTV. Which was when he noticed the figure of a woman standing outside of the tourist shop, her figure tense and stationary. Frowning, because it was rare when someone actually visited the shop for purely touristy purposes, he zoomed in on her face, waiting for the image to clear of pixilation. He took in her furrowed brow, slim figure, and almost permanent scowl.

He knew this woman.

She was the sociopath that put a bomb in Jack's stomach and incased him in concrete.

Ianto really didn't like her. Especially after hearing about her part in 'saving the world.'

And she was standing outside of the Hub. For what? So she could drop another explosive in it?

Ianto grimaced, and grabbed a gun.

----------------------------------------

She stared down the barrel of his gun with calmness that was almost admirable, her dark eyes staring evenly into Ianto's blue ones. He noticed she looked very different than before, her hair lying around her face seemed to soften her somewhat, and she was no longer wearing her SWAT-like uniform, instead dressed in dark jeans and a black collared shirt that hugged her slim figure. He was startled by how normal she looked.

But he didn't lower his gun.

"What are you doing here?"

Her eyes roved over him slowly. "You're dead."

"Clearly not." Ianto murmured back, just as evenly. "What is your purpose here?"

Instead of answering his question, her eyes took in the repaired square. "The resources Torchwood is privy to are quite astounding, really. It should have taken at least a year to rebuild." She didn't seem to be in much of a rush, and that annoyed him.

Ianto turned off the safety.

"Very well, then. I want to apply for a job."

Only Ianto's quick reflexes stopped the shock from showing on his face. Was she serious? Apparent, she was, her expression reflecting nothing devious or hidden—in fact, it was rather open. And she wasn't the type of woman meant for subterfuge, not really. But there was no harm in being careful, just in case this was a ploy. Ianto rather hoped it wasn't. Another individual, Gwen perhaps, would have run her away. But Ianto saw opportunity.

"A job? Do you believe yourself to have the skills necessary to become a Torchwood member?"

She raised an eyebrow, her expression cool. "You aren't going to ask why you should trust me? That doesn't seem very smart."

"Your lack of trustworthiness hardly merits mentioning, now does it?"

She almost smiled, watching his steady arm and was clearly impressed that he could hold the gun on her for such an extended period of time. "I suppose you are right. I… resigned from my position. I want nothing to do with a government that does not protect its own people. I would rather use my skills, which are numerous, in order protect the UK from the threats that face it. Especially if those threats are anything like the 456."

Inwardly, Ianto cheered. Outwardly, he kept his expression flat, speaking in his 'quiet, deadly voice,' as Jack liked to call it. "A good answer. Very textbook." Ianto paused.

She nodded, silently asking for him to continue. "Did you think that killing Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper, and myself was essential to the protection of the UK and its citizens?"

She didn't even pause. "Of course. I would not have done it otherwise. Although, I did not know Torchwood members were so hard to kill. Or so opposed to staying dead."

Ianto ignored the hint. His resurrection was none of her business, and it would stay that way. "I will ask again. What are these skills that you believe Torchwood could gain by employing you?" Ianto couldn't believe he was holding an interview for a Torchwood position outside and at gunpoint in plain view where anyone could walk by and see, but he'd long sense learned to role with the punches.

Once again, her answer was immediate. "I have substantial mastery in hand to hand combat, the use of most guns, and other weaponry such as knives and stun guns. I also have the ability to quickly assimilate to any weapon I am presented with. I have an extensive knowledge of explosives," she paused, as if waiting for Ianto to react and seemed almost disappointed when he didn't. "as well as most poisons. Lastly, I am utterly ruthless, and I will kill indiscriminately when it is needed of me." _You certainly are quite the sociopath, aren't you?_

Ianto could help but clarify one fact. "Torchwood does not need a hitwoman."

She nodded. "Understood. Nevertheless, I believe it to be a skill worth mentioning."

Ianto stared her down, looking for something in her eyes that said Torchwood was in her future. He found it. "Jack Harkness is no longer at Torchwood." He felt the need to point that out as well, heart aching even though his face betrayed none of his inner turmoil.

"Understood. I am willing to defer to the current leader of Torchwood Three, whom is…"

"Me." Ianto hoped Gwen didn't kill him.

"Very well… sir. When can I expect notification regarding this position?"

Ianto turned the safety on, pocketing the gun with the grace of a man that was used to handling them. He turned around, heading into the shop. "Follow me, Agent Johnson."

Finally, a bit of surprise cracked through her cold, perfect façade. "Just Johnson now, Mr. Jones."

"Call me Ianto, or sir if you must. Never Mr. Jones." There were too many Mr. Jones' in his family that he didn't like.

She nodded, following him to the entrance to the Hub.

"And Johnson?"

She turned to him as they stopped in front of the entrance. "If I believe, for a moment, that you have any ill intentions towards Torchwood or any member of the team, or doubt your loyalty to this office, I will dispose of you. Do not thinking it to be above me." His tone was not angry, but neither was it pleasant. No, it was a statement of truth, one he needed her to take seriously.

Johnson gave him a tiny, but honest, smile as the Hub was revealed to her. "Understood, sir."

Ianto had to hide his own smile, and hoped Gwen wouldn't give him too much trouble over this.

* * *

There were several reasons why Jack hated John Hart, and he had just been reminded of them.

First off: John only cares about John, and what John wants.

He could care less that Jack could have gone a millennia without even seeing Earth's blue atmosphere, but because John 'had business,' Jack would be forced to revisit on the scene of the worst crimes he'd ever committed.

Second: John was a lying bastard.

He hadn't intended to tell Jack they were heading for Earth until they hit the atmosphere, hence his odd protectiveness over the console. Every time Jack had mentioned Planet 142, John had gone out of his way to be nonchalant—he'd been an idiot not to notice something was wrong. But John had a way of putting people at ease, even people who knew he was a selfish, lying prick.

Third: John had a remarkable reaction time.

Which was how, immediately after Jack noticed they were passing Mercury, John already had a gun aimed at his head. He knew how much Jack hated regenerating brain matter, and marched the other man into the ships tiny containment cell, which was actually in the cockpit (and if that wasn't faulty design, Jack didn't know what was).

Fourth: John was sadistic.

Killing him repeatedly until they got to Earth would have been preferable to making Jack watch their progression to the planet, making Jack dread every minute, every moment, every _second_. He tried to close his eyes, but they always opened, and he found that they were a little closer to the place Ianto was buried. Even for John, this was cruel and usual. Jack told him so, almost desperate to be released even if it meant dying for a while.

John merely tsked and shook his head slowly and said, "It's for your own good, Jackie."

When he said, "I'm going to fucking kill you, John," the young-looking man shrugged apathetically.

"Immortal, remember?"

Jack didn't believe that load of crap for a minute because, while the split lip had healed, the bruise Jack had given him when he 'woke' with a sword in his chest was still livid against the high cheekbone.

Jack would have to keep him alive long enough to find out how the man made himself look young, but that was a thought for another day.

And now, Jack was pacing in a box that was barely seven by seven, already shaking with the possibility of going back to that damned rock. He tried to fool himself, rationalizing that Earth had hundreds of nations, that he didn't know where John was going, _when _he was going, that John probably wouldn't even go near the UK… but John wouldn't miss an opportunity to cause Jack anguish. Even if John needed to go to thirteenth century China, he'd manage to make a pit stop in 2009 Cardiff.

"Why are you doing this, John?" Jack asked desperately for what had to be the tenth time. "You don't even like Earth, you said it was a 'backwater, primitive little piece of cosmic crap.' Are you that intent on screwing with me that you'd go somewhere that you hate? Don't go out of your way to make me miserable, I'm already miserable enough." His attempt at trying to get John to change his mind was pathetic, but all of his persuasive charm seemed to have died when Ianto did.

"It's for your own good," John said again for what had to be the tenth time, sitting lazily on a floating ottoman and watching Jack through… sympathetic eyes?

Impossible.

John wouldn't know sympathetic if it gouged out his eyes.

"That's just," Jack sputtered. "complete and utter crap! Since when have you cared about what's best for me?"

"I've always cared about what's best for you," John shot back. "When I thought it was in your best interest to be with me, I sought you out."

"Oh, and I suppose it was in my best interest to be buried alive for a few hundred years," Jack snapped out harshly.

To his surprise, John flinched. "I didn't have to put that tracking device on you, didn't have to make sure you got retrieved—"

"Oh, and that makes it _so_ much better, sorry for getting snippy—"

"I didn't have a choice, I would have died then, not every man rises from the bloody dead like you!"

"If you were a better man, you would have died rather than do what you did," Jack growled out. They had never really had it out about this, and it sucked that he wasn't in the position to punch the outraged expression off of John's face.

"Oh, a better man like pretty little Ianto?" John bit out bitterly. "He lasted what, two years, relying on you to protect him? I learned long ago that when you were involved, I had to look out for myself."

There was a long silence, and Jack was too enraged to see the almost regretful expression on the other mans' face.

"Don't… you… fucking… _dare_—" Jack was so angry he was shaking with it, barely able to even talk. He punched at the metal keeping him confined, not even flinching when a few bones broke, and was gratified with John flinched slightly at the sound.

John sighed, looking almost tired. "What, Jack? Say the things you think but would never admit to out loud?"

"_Shut up_, you selfish bastard! Don't make your lack of a conscience, your complete _inability_ to act like a human being into something about Ianto!"

The look on John's face almost made Jack regret his words. Almost. "Do you think it was easy for me, a bloody walk in the park, to _bury the only man I've ever loved alive_? That I wanted to help your psychotic little brother? God only knows why not," John snapped, his voice raising. "After the way you treated me, you ought to be lucky I didn't fucking SPIT ON YOUR FACE BEFORE THROWING THE DIRT ON, YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER _PRICK_!" By the time he finished, John was actually roaring out the words, his pale face red and his blue eyes glossy with tears. "I… I s-saved you," he finished nearly inaudibly.

Jack was stunned into silence, not having seen John so close to tears in nearly a decade. Was this some kind of trick, just John trying out crocodile tears because of his younger face? "What in hell are you talking about," Jack said suspiciously. "If you think that was _saving_ me—"

"You don't know the whole story," John murmured quietly, his eyes still teary, and _God_, it was an unnerving sight. One that made Jack's insides squirm with guilt even though he knew _John_ should be the one feeling guilty.

When John didn't speak after a long time, Jack realized that the man didn't seem keen on telling Jack the 'whole story.'

"What don't I know?" Jack asked soothing, using his I'll-take-care-of-you voice.

"Don't use that bloody voice with me, Jack, I've known you far too long to fall for that crap," John said tiredly, facing the wall, seeming determined to not look at Jack.

"So?" Jack said unrepentantly. "You wouldn't have mentioned something unless you wanted to tell me. So come on, give me you best shot at twisting this story to make you look like the victim," Jack said, tone mocking.

John was quiet for a long time, and Jack opened his mouth to bait the other man again when he finally spoke.

"You remember Toz D'Hozris?"

"Yeah," Jack said cautiously, "What about him?" D'Hozris had been another Time Agent, John's mentor actually. Jack had found the man beating on John when they were both new to the Agency, and took person offense to such a lovely face getting thrashed. Jack had told D'Hozris to leave John alone, and when he hadn't… well, one thing led to another and D'Hozris ended up dead. Jack had thought he would be removed from the Agency for sure, but as it turns out, several of the higher ups considered D'Hozris to be a loose cannon and were almost grateful that bastard was dead. That was when Jack realized the Time Agency wasn't what it claimed to be to allow a Mentor to abuse his Protégé simply because they were afraid to do anything.

He could remember John's bruised face as if it had happened only minutes ago, looking up at him with something akin to hero worship as Jack marched the slightly younger man to get his broken arm healed. It almost ached, remembering John bright-eyed and thankful, so young, barely into his twenties. Looking almost exactly like he did now. If only Jack had known how much damage D'Hozris had really done to John, what he'd made the seemingly innocent man into. The demons John hid behind that angelic face…

"What about him?" Jack prompted again, his voice unintentionally gentle. He couldn't help it, John hadn't mentioned D'Hozris in _years_, it was the one thing John wouldn't ever talk about, and because of that Jack knew that this wasn't a ploy. For once.

John's voice was soft as he responded. "He's not dead."

Jack froze.

"W-_What_?"

"I said, he's not dead," John said, almost forcibly.

Jack frowned. "We both know that's impossible. The, the bastard's _brains_ were all over the floor, John! You don't get much deader than that."

"He got himself cloned."

"Cloning was outlawed in the 35th century," Jack pointed out after several stunned minutes of silence.

"Like that would really be a bother for a Time Agent," John snapped out. "Use your brain for once, Jack."

"But, but that's…" It was incomprehensible. Time travel to the 30th to 35th centuries was absolutely forbidden due to the invention of cloning. Just traveling back to those times was punishable by death. It was one of the first things a Time Agent learned.

Because clones were bad.

Really bad.

Cybermen and Delaks bad.

"Yeah, it's pretty fucked up," John agreed, relatively calm for a man who possibly had a _clone after him_!

"John… how," Jack began, still shocked. "_Wait_." A horrible thought came to him. John looked so young, so damn _young_, and he was acting differently, and oh god, he hoped he was wrong—"You didn't _clone_ yourself, did you?"

John snapped his head to Jack, blue eyes wide and surprised, and Jack almost imagined seeing an unearthly light behind them, and oh _fuck_ John had actually _done_ it and—John began to giggle. Actually giggle. The giggles turned into full blown guffaws, causing the man to fall to the ground in absolute hilarity.

"I can't _believe_ you," gasp, "thought," giggle, "I was," chortle, "a _clone_!" John continued to roll on the ground, clearly amused beyond belief. Jack didn't find it very funny.

"Really funny, John, that was freaking _great_," Jack half-yelled over the man's laughter. "You scared the crap out of me!" And Jack wasn't ashamed to say so—clones were nothing to joke about.

"Your face!" John managed to get before collapsing into laugher again. "Oh, god, thanks for that Jack. I needed a laugh."

"Did you make up that bit about D'Hozris too," Jack demanded, more than a little pissed.

John got his laugher under control rather quick after Jack said that. "No, wish I was though."

Damn, and Jack had hoped John was screwing with him. "So, what does D'Hozris have to do with what happened between me, you, and Grey?"

John's eyes were far too solemn as he sat back on this seat. "I don't know how, Jack, but Grey knew about him, knew what D'Hozris had done to himself, had a bloody hologram _connection_ with the bastard, showed it to me and he said, he said—"

"What? What did he say?" Jack asked, dread building in his stomach.

"He said—D'Hozris said that if I didn't kill you, didn't _avenge _him, that he'd come and do it himself. And we both know that if D'Hozris had helped Grey…" John trailed off meaningfully.

Jack paled, doing a far impression of what he looked like when he was dead. Jack had gotten lucky, been at the right place, the right time, the stars aligned just perfectly, and he had been able to take D'Hozris down. He wouldn't have been a match for the man, _still_ wasn't sure if he was a match for him. D'Hozris was bad news, even without the cloning bit. The man had been one of the best at what he did, and pillaged and raped his way through time in a way that no one had ever matched. To think that he had the power of cloning behind him now was terrifying. Him coming Earth would have been bad news in every way—for Jack, for Torchwood, for the whole world.

"He hadn't known that you were immortal, clearly, and Grey hadn't told him for some reason. I guess your psycho of a brother realized that I was still going to find a way to weasel out of killing you so he grafted that damn explosive to my skin. I'm not going to lie and say that it wasn't one hell of an incentive, but D'Hozris forced my hand. You're just bloody lucky that I convinced Grey to bury you. You don't even want to know what he had planned for you originally," John actually shuddered, and Jack, for once, just didn't want to know.

"When were you planning on telling me about D'Hozris, John?"

"Never," the slighter man snapped out. "I was never going to tell you. I was going to deal with it on my own—"

"Deal with D'Hozris on your own," Jack said in disbelief. "You know what he wants with you—"

"Of course I know, I'm not an idiot and I sure as hell didn't forget about my time with him, but it was my problem and you—"

"_Your_ problem? And after you failed to deal with him, who do you think he would have come after? You should have just swallowed your pride and—"

"And what? Explained it all to you _after_ you shot me in head? No-bloody-thank you, Jack, I like my head more or less intact."

Jack frowned. That _was_ kind of true. "But you still should have—"

"I don't need you to save me!" John exploded. "I'm not that kid anymore, it was my bloody problem to handle, my responsibility, and I don't need you to protect me! Just because you get a hard-on from pretending to be some kind of hero—"

"Oh _please_, John, I don't have time for you and your several _thousand_ insecurities. It has nothing to do with me trying to protect you, and everything to do with freaking D'Hozris being after my head."

John snarled out something in his native tongue that Jack didn't understand, but that was probably best.

"And I'm guessing you didn't 'deal with him,' right? That's why you came to me, why you did whatever it is that you did to yourself," Jack said with sudden insight. "You couldn't deal with him on your own—"

"You don't know what you're talking about," John snapped. "None of this has anything to do with D'Hozris—"

"So you telling me that you didn't try to confront him on your own and got completely thrashed? That you didn't barely escape and come crawling to me for help," Jack taunted.

He was disappointed when John didn't rise to the bait. "That's exactly what I'm saying. I can't even bloody find the bastard. I got a location on that hologram with Grey and figured I'd start there, find something that would lead me to him."

"Well, what did you find?"

"A planet," John said with an almost-growl. "A completely destroyed planet. He killed everything, Jack. Even the bloody _plants_."

"_Fuck_," Jack breathed, suddenly unable to look at John, turning to stare out of the window.

And he saw Earth.

All that he'd found out in the past few minutes faded away with a silence that was almost deafening, only the sound of his pounded heart reverberating through his body to keep him company. Even John fell silent, staring at the planet with a fear and trepidation that would have shocked Jack had he been able to see anything other than the memories flashing before his eyes. Memories of coy smiles, hot mugs of coffee, the love making that was even hotter, the feeling of utter helplessness when he heard that lovely voice say, _"It's too late, I breathed the air."_ Memories of the words he could never get out, the words he would never have a chance to say. His heart panged almost violently and he wanted to scream, tear his eyes away from the blue planet that reminded him of a certain Welshman's eyes.

Jack closed his eyes.

_Ianto_.

**TBC**

And, ladies and gentlemen, we have a villain.


	5. Chapter Four: Conflict of Two Kinds

**Summary**: Jack isn't the only Torchwood member with restorative powers. At least, not anymore. Jack/Ianto—Post COE.

**Rating**: R++ overall, this individual chapter…. PG-15ish?

**Warnings for this chapter**: Profanity, violence, angst, John deviousness… and that's it for now?

**Disclaimer**: In no way, shape, or form do I claim any ownership over the Torchwood/Doctor Who Universe. This is a slash fanfiction. Don't like it? Don't read it!

**Author's note**: First off, I want to thank everyone that has supported me through the 'plagiarism' issue, and don't worry, it seems to have been resolved.

Okay, well some of this chapter is filler and other parts of it isn't. I think that a bit of my dislike for Gwen is coming out with this chapter, but I also feel that they way she acts in this part of the story is characteristic of her on the whole. While she's not a bad person, she can be hard-headed and selfish at time. So I guess it's not me being unfair to her—it's more of me writing out one of the reasons that she can annoy me so much. If you think otherwise, let me know.

Also, I've started to notice that John is becoming an almost fairy godmother type figure with the way that he's been forcing Jack to face his problems. You'll see what I mean. ^_^

Lastly, thanks to my wonderful beta, **Vittani**, for getting these chapters back to me so quickly!

Enjoy!

**Chapter Four: Conflict of Two Kinds**

Lois was in the Hub.

It made Ianto slightly nervous for some reason or other, perhaps because every time the girl looked at him, she turned several shades paler before averting her eyes. It wasn't easy, he knew, to look at someone that you knew for a fact had died walk around and serve you coffee. Ianto liked to think of himself as immune to it after having dealt with Jack, but he could hardly stand to look at himself in the mirror. Just yesterday, the muscles in his leg had gotten a bit stiff, and for one irrational moment, he momentarily feared it was rigor mortis.

Never mind the fact that his heart was still beating.

Never mind the fact that Owen hadn't suffered from rigor mortis with a permanent _bullet wound_ in his chest.

Ianto was afraid, something he had no problem admitting to himself. There were small, odd things he'd noticed about himself now—like the fact that all of his body hair seemed to have turned fair and thin. He'd always had a bit of hair on his chest, not much, but enough to mark him as someone who'd passed his teens (Ianto _still_ got carded when he wasn't in suits. He had a baby face, apparently). But now, he had _no_ chest hair. It had fallen out yesterday while he showered, and now Ianto was worried about what else would fall out.

He also noticed the ultra-bright sheen to his blue eyes, and the fact that his hair had gained an odd red hue under light. And it made him wonder what would come next—antlers, that extra head he'd jokingly thought about days ago, fangs, claws? For all he knew, his chest hair would grow back pink.

Most of these things were so small that no one but Ianto himself would be able to point them out, something that he was quite grateful for.

Scenarios were flying about in his head, every new one more disturbing than the last, and now he wondered if he would become Torchwood's next threat.

Or, it could be far simpler. Would he just die again, stop breathing, to just not wake up one morning? He wasn't a fixed point in time, as far as he knew, nor was he whatever Owen had been after that incident with the Risen Mitten. He didn't know what had brought him back, and that was more than unnerving—because if it could bring him to life so suddenly, what was to say that it couldn't take that life back?

But these were thoughts for a later time, when an inquisitive young woman wasn't staring at him with honey-brown eyes.

He gave Lois a refill on her unsweetened triple espresso (such a bitter drink for such a sweet looking girl), watching she smiled at him somewhat tentatively and responded with a somewhat mousy, "Thank you." Lois immediately took a sip, her eyes closing in pleasure and Ianto smiled at the fact he'd managed to entrance one more person with his personal coffee magic. After taking time for a few more sips, she went back to her work, familiarizing herself with the CCTV and the inner workings of Rift spikes.

He brought Gwen her mug as well, a drink that was more milk than coffee. As he sat it down on her heart-shaped coaster, she merely cut her eyes to him nastily.

Yes.

Gwen was still angry.

Johnson was lurking in the upper Archives, which housed the equipment the team was most likely to use and usually needed to be able to operate. The rest of the archives were blocked off by a security code, housing all the archives that hadn't been completely destroyed in the explosion. These were the truly dangerous artifacts, or the ones that hadn't yet been identified and Ianto hadn't yet gotten a chance to take a look at them. He would have to proceed with considerable caution, as some of them had to be damaged from the blast—and alien inventions did strange things when they malfunctioned. He didn't give Johnson the code to those archives, and she had the common sense not to ask—she knew her position was tenuous at the moment. That she wasn't trusted.

Of course, Gwen wasn't helping with the spectacular fit she'd thrown upon realizing what Ianto had done in her absence. He wasn't sure what Gwen was more angry about—the fact that he'd given Johnson a job, or the fact that he'd assumed leadership over Torchwood.

The latter had been rather unintentional, of course, but Gwen was still sulking from acute betrayal and resentment when Ianto rather bluntly told her that he had the right, perhaps even more than her, to initiate someone into Torchwood. After all, he'd been a part of Torchwood since he was _nineteen_, had survived Canary Wharf (which is something that not even most skilled operatives had managed), and he liked to think that he knew what would make a good Torchwood member.

Gwen disagreed.

"_She's a blood psycho, Ianto! What in the hell were you thinking?"_

_Ianto sighed. "Gwen, please try to understand why I made this decision. I'm aware that she isn't your favorite person, however—"_

"_Not my favorite person? Well, that's one way to put it," She muttered lowly. "She's a bloody menace."_

"—_However, Johnson has the potential to become a useful member of the team."_

"_How," Gwen demanded. "Explain to me how a woman who tried to _kill _us should be anywhere near me, much less working in the same place as I am and on the bloody team!"_

"_Because she can see the big picture," Ianto finally said bluntly, tired of going in circles with Gwen for the better part of an hour. "Because she can do what you, and probably Lois, can't. You see the individuals, the singular, the small things that kept us all grounded in humanity—and that's wonderful, it really is. But when the decisions get tough, I need someone who will sacrifice, who will do what has to be done."_

"_Like giving up ten percent of the world's children so everyone wouldn't die? Is that the kind of sacrifices you think I should be able to make," Gwen snapped out harshly, shaking her head like an angry horse._

"_No," Ianto snapped back in complete frustration. Gwen just wasn't getting it. "I'm talking about Jack's grandson, and what Johnson helped him do to save that ten percent."_

_Gwen looked completely flummoxed, and Ianto almost didn't blame her. "How can you—how dare you… They killed a child!"_

"_Yes," Ianto murmured. "They sacrificed one child to save millions of children. They saved the world, made the worst decision, the only decision, the _right_ decision. Can you tell me you could have done the same? Tell me you wouldn't have stopped Jack, and you'll never have to see Johnson again."_

_Gwen was silent for a few moments, her eyes dark with anger and pain. "Could you have done it? Stood by and watched an innocent child die for the 'good of the world?'"_

_Ianto met her eyes, and she almost shuddered at the complexity of emotions swimming those blue orbs. "Yes, I could. I wish I could give you the answer you want, but I can't. We all have to sacrifice, Gwen, and sometimes sacrificing yourself isn't enough."_

_She stayed silent after that._

Since then, the atmosphere between them had been… tense, to say the least.

But there was nothing to do for it. He hated fighting with Gwen when they were all that remained of the 'original' team, but he had to think of the future now. A future without Jack for a leader, a future where he may not be around for much longer or where he may change into something that the team would have to put down. And Ianto had to make them ready for that, had to make sure Torchwood Three survived without him.

He couldn't let another Torchwood fall.

And he could see now, that for all her bravado, Gwen couldn't lead permanently—and not just because of her pregnancy. She was emotion and heart and love and _human_. and she was needed here so that they could never lose sight of Torchwood's real purpose. But she wasn't ready for all the hard decisions that Jack had once made, the decisions Ianto had never envied him for. Gwen would never be ready.

Those decisions were Ianto's now.

Because now he was ready… and perhaps he always had been.

* * *

It had been so quiet for the past month, no rift activity, not even a weevil sighting, that when the alarm went off, even Ianto and Gwen jumped.

"Oh!" Lois had been staring at the Rift tracker when the spike occurred and nearly spilled her espresso all over the work station. She flushed in embarrassment when the other two went over to her monitor. "What… what was that?"

"The rift," Ianto replied, taking over the work-station to try and pin-point where the disturbance had occurred. He was no Tosh, but he was faster on a computer than Gwen and cursed under his breath at the three alien signals coming from the southern part of the city. "Dammit. There are three of them."

"Three of what, sir?" Ah, Johnson, perfect timing.

"Three signals, Johnson. Fancy some field work?"

All he got in response a sharp nod, but the woman was already heading to her workstation to retrieve the gun Ianto had given her earlier that day. Lois stared around nervously, clearly not knowing her place. Ianto decided to be kind and ask. "Would you like to come into the field today as well, Lois?"

The girl bit her lip slightly, turning her head towards Gwen, who gave the girl an encouraging smile. "Yes, please. I would, i-if you don't mind."

"Just be careful and hang back, alright?" Lois nodded eagerly, the thick plaits in her hair falling about her cheek. Then Ianto noticed Gwen suiting up, putting a gun on her noticeably expanding waistband. Wonderful. Just what he needed.

"Gwen, you're in control of the coordinates and getting us there safely, alright? Keep an eye on their moments and alert us if they move so much as a yard."

"What?" Gwen stood, her face showing that stubborn expression Ianto had grown to hate. "No, I'm coming with you guys. Lois is new to the field, and Johnson is—," Gwen gave the woman a slight sneer that Johnson ignored completely. "I'm needed on the field."

She was really going to do this now, wasn't she? While three unidentified alien signals were left unattended. Lois was already looking between the two of them, clearly not sure who was more of the authority figure. And Johnson was staring in the other direction, seemingly uncaring about the disagreement though Ianto knew she was testing him, waiting to see how he would handle the situation. "Gwen, I don't have time to argue about this. Have you got a track on the three signals?"

"Yes, but—"

"Neither Johnson nor Lois know how to operate these computers well enough to guide us. If you don't stay behind we go in blind and risk our lives."

Ianto could tell she was getting ready to argue. "Gwen, this is pure _idiocy_. You're starting to show, and nearly every alien knows what a pregnant female looks like. Some can even smell it. If you are so completely negligent that you don't care if you child lives or dies, then by all means, go to an abortion clinic. But I will not let you put this team in danger because of your stubbornness."

Gwen was silent for a moment, but Ianto knew there was much more coming and he decided to leave before things really got bad. Gwen could yell at him with they got back from the field. Ianto grabbed a few extra rounds for his gun and snatched the keys to the SUV off the hook, turning to leave with Johnson and Lois when he heard Gwen's voice trembling with rage from behind him. "I won't allow you to tell me what to do. You are _not_ in charge of this team, Ianto."

_For now, I am_, Ianto thought, fixing his comm before throwing one to Lois. "Come on, then. Let's go."

* * *

"Coordinates bring us to 507 Whesthimer," Ianto said aloud for the benefit of the other two in the car. "Gwen, are the signals still stationary?"

"_Yes, but one of them has been moving around a bit—the other two haven't moved since the rift spike. They must be artifacts. I still haven't been able to get a visual on them, so I'm not sure."_ He could only detect the slightly hint of anger in her voice, and he was satisfied that Gwen had been able to pull it together in order to guide them. For a moment, he worried that they _would_ be going in blind.

But he should have known better. No matter how upset Gwen was, she would never willingly put the rest of the team in danger.

"That is a possibility," Ianto agreed, making a sharp turn into the driveway. "We're here. Johnson, back me up. Lois, field rule number one: stay close, do _not_ allow yourself to become separated with the rest of the team under any circumstances. We don't know what we're dealing with here, so assume it's hostile." He knew he was doing a bit of a gamble, allowing Lois here with them, but he was confident in Johnson's skills and there was no time like the present to give Lois a taste of what working at Torchwood was really like.

And it was high time that Ianto got a bit of practice leading. God, just the idea that lives were directly depending on him was causing his hands to shake slightly, and it was all he could do not to break out in a nervous sweat. He wasn't sure how Jack had managed to deal with it all.

But he was a professional—the senior member of this team—and he was going to act like it.

They exited the car, Johnson pulling out her gun so fast she almost seemed to blur for a moment before taking her position at his right elbow. He idly wondered if that was a coincidence, or if Johnson had already noticed that he was weakest on his right.

"Johnson," he cautioned. "Remember what we are here for." Ianto didn't want to say more in front of Lois, not wanting to scare the girl, who was already between Johnson and Ianto curiously. Ianto had already had extensive discussions with Johnson on what was and what was not appropriate behavior in the field. In other words, there would be no killing unless an explicit threat was established. Capture, not kill. Johnson nodded stiffly, understanding the hint.

"Alright team, move in." And if that one little statement didn't scare him more than anything else, because Ianto wasn't sure if he was ready for this. Not that he had any choice. "Gwen, still no visuals?"

"_None, they're all inside of the warehouse. That's as far as I can tell. There's a CCTV feed around the perimeter of the building—if they come outside, I'll see."_

"Alright. Thanks Gwen." And Ianto really meant it. He was sorry about he said to her earlier, even if it was something that she needed to hear.

Ianto pulled out his gun, gesture for Lois to come up a bit on his left. He was happy to note that the stun gun he'd given her was already out and ready for us. Lois was a natural with the thing, and Ianto was satisfied with that for now. The look she'd given him when she first saw the guns was enough to tell him that she wasn't ready for that yet. He would give her a bit more time. But not much—they couldn't afford it.

They approached the entrance, Ianto frowning once he realized that it was slight ajar, the padlock pried apart. He inspected it for a moment, feeling a chill run down his spine at he sight of finger indentations. Whatever had done this was strong. Unimaginably so.

Ianto pushed at the door with his shoulder, inwardly wincing at the rusty creak the door made. Raising his gun and turning slightly, Ianto proceeded without looking behind him at the other two. Johnson could take care of herself and he could almost feel Lois' warm breaths on the back of his neck.

Ianto smiled.

At least she was staying close.

The inside of the warehouse was dirty, the particles of dust catching the midday light through grimy and cracked windows. At least it wasn't completely dark, though many things could hide in the shadows that were cast against each corner and wall. The warehouse was vast, but relatively empty besides a few hulking masses of rusty metal that were once working machines. He couldn't hear anything, but a sixth sense told him something alive was in here and he kept moving towards the center of the building.

"_Lois!"_ Everyone, including Lois, froze at the sound of Gwen's voice. Ianto waited for her to elaborate. _"You're almost on top of one of the signals."_

"But I don't see anything," she whispered back, eyes roving all around her.

Ianto looked to the floor.

And there it was gleaming, made of a metal-like material that was somehow reminiscent of mother-of-pearl. It appeared to be a necklace with several intricate and interlinking chains leading to a pendant of pure black, the odd metal glowing dimly as the color changed very few colors to soft pastels. But looks can be deceiving. Lois' shoe was almost nudging on the pale ropes of metal, her eyes wide as she slowly pulled back her foot.

"Don't touch it," Ianto warned both of them, bending slightly to get a better look at the stone. It wasn't a pure obsidian as it first appeared to be, the slightest glimmers of luminescence ebbing within the stone, twinkling like… stars? "Are any of the other signals moving, Gwen?"

"_No, still stationary."_

Quickly pulling on a glove, Ianto shuffled closer, using a small metal rod to pull the necklace from the ground and slide it into a clear bag. It was special Torchwood order that wouldn't allow the alien signal to transmit beyond the inside of the bag. Useful, if the artifact was dangerous. That may not be the case with this, but Ianto has learned the more beautiful an alien device was, the more deadly it was likely to be. Plus, it didn't hurt to be cautious.

"_Shit! One of the signals just disappeared and another is moving towards you from the left. It's coming in quick!"_

Ianto almost didn't need Gwen's warning, he could hear it.

_It_ was an unearthly shriek that echoed loudly off the rusted walls of the warehouse as the sound of something rushing across the cement. When the alien came into view, Ianto was ready, gun and flashlight pointed directly at the emerging figure. A short, thin figure.

Ianto felt Lois suck in a breath, and he nearly allowed his own surprise overtake his common sense when he almost lowered his weapon. The alien was a… child.

Or at least what appeared to be a child, a small girl that couldn't be more than seven by his estimation. She had unnaturally white skin like the color of bleached parchment with hair just as pale and translucent that lay in ragged strands down to her knees. Her eyes were perhaps the most alien thing about her—an odd orange-red that burned like embers from under a delicate fringe of lashes.

Gun still pose, Ianto step forward slightly, feeling his heart drop a few inches when the tiny child scuttled away from him in fear. Every remotely paternal instinct was telling him to drop his weapon and make sure the girl wasn't hurt, but instincts that had been honed all the way from Torchwood One kept his weapon raised.

"It's okay, little one," Ianto heard a tentative voice say from his side, and his eyes widened to see Lois attempting to get closer to the girl, stun gun tucked into her jeans. "No one's going to hurt you."

"Lois," He hissed as the young woman took another step forward as curious orange-red eyes watched her. "Stand back."

She stubbornly took another step towards the alien. "It's just a little girl, Ianto. She's not going to hurt anyone. Are you darling?" Lois was positively cooing, and Ianto considered calling her Gwen 2.0.

Johnson's gun was still up, that was something.

"Get away from her, Lois. She could be dangerous," Ianto said lowly, not screaming like he wanted to. He began to close the gap between himself and Lois, so that he would be close enough to act if something went wrong. _When_ something went wrong. Startling a possibly hostile alien wasn't just wasn't on, and his ears were still ringing from that shriek. Nothing that could make a battle cry like that was harmless.

Lois, a mere few feet away from the girl, turned to give him a slightly incredulous look and that was all it took. The alien opened her small mouth, revealing no less than three rows of needle thin (not to mention _pointy_) teeth before releasing that horrible sound again and charging at Lois, pouncing in a second. Ianto could see huge claws growing from the tiny fingers as the alien raised a hand threateningly from her position on top of Lois and he did the only thing he could do.

He aimed and shot.

Lois gave a small, shocked cry as blackish blood splattered over the front of her white shirt and scrabbled up, stumbling away from the body.

He heard Johnson suck in a shocked breath as well.

"_Ianto, what just happened?" _Gwen's worried voice came from the comm, but Ianto didn't answer. He was too busy staring at the little girl with the bullet hole in her head.

"Oh… oh my god," Lois gasped, looking at Ianto with horrified eyes. "She was just a child. She wasn't going to hurt me."

"Yes, I could tell from the way she nearly ripped your throat out," Ianto snapped irritated, still approaching the body with caution.

"_Ianto!"_

"She was just scared, oh my god, _oh my god_." Ianto turned away from the body, satisfied that the alien was dead and opened his mouth to reply to Lois' hysteria.

"_Ianto, what in the hell is going on," _Gwen practically shrieked in his ear._ "Are you alright?!"_

"We're fine, Gwen," Ianto spoke into the comm before turning to Lois.

"This is your first time in the field, and I do not expect you to be completely familiar with protocol but you should never forget this: If something comes at you with teeth and claws, you shoot even if it looks like the blood _Easter bunny_. That girl would have clawed your throat out before you could so much as scream if I hadn't shot her. Am I sorry that I had to shoot a child, even an alien one? Of course. But your life is far more important to me and I have a responsibility to protect every member this team, even when a member unthinkingly endangers their life," Ianto ended pointedly.

Lois turned her doe eyes on him, and he saw the guilt swimming there. While he didn't want her to feel responsible for his actions or the death of the alien, sometimes a little guilt went a long ways to keeping Torchwood employees safe. Lois opened her to say something when something beyond his shoulder caught her eye, her face showing complete and utter shock.

Then he heard a familiar shriek followed by several gunshots and a thump.

He turned to Johnson in surprise as the woman lowered her smoking gun. "She tried to charge me," Johnson explained stiffly. Ianto took another look at the girl, who despite having several gunshot wounds, was crawling slowly on the floor, mouth caught in a sneer and eyes lit with a manic gleam. Those eyes didn't belong to a child.

"I don't doubt it."

Ianto fired another shot and the girl went limp for the second time, but he knew better than to think the alien was dead this time. He unlocked the car remotely and told Lois to go get some cuffs and a tranquilizer.

No one noticed the pendant, safe in the neutralizing plastic, glow brightly for several moments before dimming as if nothing had occurred.

* * *

They were in London and the close proximity to Cardiff was enough to make him shake with grief and anxiety.

It didn't help that Jack was in the city that Ianto had spent some of the most influential years of his life in, where he went to university before being recruited into Torchwood, where he met Lisa and fell so deeply in love that he couldn't let go of the shell the Cybermen had made his lover into. This was the city where Ianto experienced the traumatic battle of Canary Wharf, where he had been broken but not shattered, where he began to develop into the man that Jack had loved so dearly.

Every step he took, Jack wondered if Ianto had once walked the sidewalk he was on, if he was retracing Ianto's steps.

He was driving himself crazy.

Not that John was helping matters much.

"Dammit, she's not here," John mumbled to himself for what had to be the _fiftieth _time, and Jack didn't have a single clue what the man was rambling about. "Or he, for that matter."

"_Who_ isn't here, John?"

"None of your fucking business," John snapped out, going from spacey to pissed off in point two oh seconds.

"God, you've been acting like you're on the rag since we've landed! What crawled up your ass, John?" John gave Jack a strange 'who, me' look that just grated on his nerves. Forget that he was somewhere that he promised he would never return to, he didn't even know why he was there! John still wasn't forthcoming about why they were on Earth, much less in London, other than to say that he 'had business.'

Jack had tried to force the answer out of John earlier, but that had gone nowhere quickly. Especially after John said, "If you don't want to be here, nothing's bloody stopping you Jack. Not like you couldn't hitchhike your way back across the galaxy if you wanted to. So either admit that you want to see Eyec-_Ianto's_ grave, or shut the hell up."

So Jack shut the hell up.

But the only thing that could keep his mind off of Ianto for a least a little while was the mystery surrounding John's supposed immortality and what he was doing on Earth. He had half a mind to shoot the little bastard just to see if he got up again, but something stopped him from killing John in the off chance that he _wouldn't_ get up. Though John was sporting a few bruised ribs from when Jack was finally released from the ship, and he had to wonder how someone whose left side was one big bruise could still swagger so effectively.

John was in full garb now, the jeans, tank, jacket, _and_ boots, but he hardly resembled the man who nearly got himself and Gwen blown to pieces over a year ago. Not just because of his younger appearance, either. John looked almost… frantic, biting at his nails, his bluish-gray eyes roving around constantly for someone who wasn't there. Because Jack was able to deduce that John was looking for someone from the 'he's not here' and 'where the hell is she' that the man kept repeating. Which would allude to two people, but Jack was pretty sure John was only talking about one.

"John," Jack began, suddenly suspicious, "this isn't one of those things where you're trying to find someone so you can kill them for a trinket, is it? Because there's no way in hell I'm going to let you murder someone for a shiny bauble."

John rolled his eyes. "Don't worry Jackie. Wouldn't want to upset your delicate sensibilities by killing someone, god knows you've never seen _that_."

John did sarcasm almost as well as Ianto.

Almost.

They were strolling down a semi-crowded street around midday and attracting quite a few stares—especially John, who went out of his way to stare intensely at every remotely attractive man or woman. But it wasn't his normal, 'I'd screw you' stare, no, it was almost as if John was searching for something in these strangers. Something he wasn't finding.

But maybe Jack was just imagining things.

"Oh, hello gorgeous," John murmured suddenly as he spotted a particularly attractive young couple, a dark-haired young man with exotic features and a young woman with corn silk blonde hair and doe eyes. "Come on, let it be one of you, come on _please_." As the couple came closer the man stared at John (who was still muttering under his breath and looking at them with a sort of desperation) strangely and hugged the woman close as they passed the two men. "Fuck," John whined, turning his head slightly to stare at the couple as they passed. "Not either of them."

Or maybe not.

Jack sighed in disgust. "Can you please stop ogling the locals, you psycho?"

John didn't respond, as he was standing in the middle of the street and pouting.

Jack was really losing patience for the other man's wild goose chase—one he obviously hadn't been invited to. "For fucks sake, John! What in hell are you looking for? I could help if—"

John turned around suddenly, growling. "Oh, _please_, don't patronize me. The last thing you would ever want to do is help me, that much you've proven. Just sod off, Jack. This doesn't concern you."

"It does concern me when you drag me back to the one planet in the entire _universe_ that I hate!"

"Oh, so you hate this little mud ball now? What happened to you ranting and raving about the beauty of humanity in the twenty-first century? What a change in tune, Jackie. I would have never figured you to be so fickle," John sneered sarcastically.

The fight ran out of Jack suddenly and without warning as he thought of the reason why he'd changed from Earth's protector to not caring if the entire planet blinked out of existence. Ianto was dead, and nothing mattered without him.

John surveyed his crushed expression with almost sympathetic eyes. "Why don't you just sod off to bloody Cardiff to properly mourn the boy, then? And go see that big-eyed PC you such a hard on for?"

"I… can't," Jack ground out, looking down at the cracked pavement, uncaring a large man bumped into him without so much as an apology.

"Right. Of course." John sighed explosively. "Guess it's all up to me, then. _Again._"

Jack looked up in confusion before his eyes widened in sudden horror. "No, John! Don't!"

But it was too late. John had already pressed the buttons on his wrist strap, and Jack could feel himself begin to teleport. "You complete _bastard_!"

"See you in a couple of days, mate," John called out from what seemed to be a long distance Jack was swept away towards Cardiff.

After Jack disappeared, John rolled his eyes in exasperation before turning around to find no less than five people staring at the spot where Jack had been in complete shock. Just lovely.

"What?" He put on his most intimidating face at the group of Londoners, inwardly snickering when they reared backwards in fright. "Nothing to see here, folks."

"That man—he just, he just," one of them stuttered out in shock and John rolled his eyes to the heavens, wondering if the poor primitive's brain was about in implode from a little bit of teleportation. And to think he was going to end up with one of _them_.

"Nothing to see here," John repeated evenly. They continued to stare at him blankly.

He pulled out his two pistols, swinging them carelessly between his fingers. "I _said_, noth—" All of pitiable lot of them began to scream and run, even those that hadn't see Jack's disappearing act, looking about as dignified as a stampede of sewer rats as they cleared the street with frantic energy that was astounding.

Whistling as he began to swagger his way down the nearly-empty street, John idly reminded himself about what he'd learned in murder rehab. That didn't stop him from firing a round in the direction the hysterical crowd had went, snickering at the sound of the almost comical screams.

Earth wasn't so bad, really.

TBC


	6. Chapter Five: Hello Cardiff

**Summary**: Jack isn't the only Torchwood member with restorative powers. At least, not anymore. Jack/Ianto—Post COE.

**Rating**: R++ overall, this individual chapter…. PG-15ish?

**Warnings for this chapter**: Profanity, violence, angst… and that's it for now?

**Disclaimer**: In no way, shape, or form do I claim any ownership over the Torchwood/Doctor Who Universe. This is a slash fanfiction. Don't like it? Don't read it!

**Author's note**: Okay, so a lot is happening in this chapter to prepare for the all that's coming in the future of this story. The real action starts next chapter, so I tried as hard as possible to not make this chapter a jumbled mess with a million plot holes. Hopefully, it's halfway decent. Tell me what you think, even if it's a 'wtf.'

Also, **this is the last of my pre-written chapters.** Because of this, and now that I've started school, updates may be a bit slower. I'll still try to keep them once a week for as long as I can, but the updates will probably be closer to once every two weeks.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Five: Hello Cardiff**

Ianto was sitting outside of his sister's home, trying to conjure up the nerve to get out of his car and knock on her door.

Never had he dreaded any conversation with a family member so much, and considering the state of his familial connections before his death, that was quite an accomplishment. He wasn't even sure what the best way to go about it was. Should he just walk up and knock on the door as if nothing had occurred? Or should he call and ask her to come outside? Should he have asked her to meet him somewhere? Hell, should he even be here at all? He'd picked a time when the kids would be at school and Johnny would be at work. It would just be the two of them. But was that best?

Ianto was certain that he was doing all of this wrong.

What if she fainted and cracked her head on the sidewalk?

What if she had a complete mental breakdown from seeing her dead little brother standing on her doorstep? Normal people, people outside of Torchwood, weren't equipped to deal with that kind of shock.

What if— Ianto saw a shadow in one of the windows and automatically ducked in the SUV, heart pounding before he snorted, laughing at himself. Really, hiding in an SUV? He was being beyond ridiculous. Rhiannon was his sister, and while the shock would be great, he doubted that she would be anything but ecstatic to see him alive and well.

So, all that was left to do was to get out of the SUV and knock on her door.

Simple. Very much so.

Despite how dreadfully simple it was to get out of a vehicle, Ianto found a way to postpone his arrival at Rhiannon's front door for another five minutes, going so far as to obsessively smooth his coat jacket—as if she would care about the state of his suit! He was sure she'd be more concerned with the dead relative on her doorstep.

His knock could have been louder, but he supposed a part of him was hoping she wouldn't answer—that he could escape from what was becoming one of the most uncomfortable experiences of his life. But Rhiannon had always had the ears of a hound, and the door opened far too quickly.

And Rhiannon froze, staring at him in the way you might stare at a stranger who was flashing you in the supermarket. Mouth of open, eyes wide with shock and confusion with a bit of horror thrown in for good measure.

Ianto figured this would be the moment to say something. If only he knew what that something was.

"Bore da, Rhi." She continued to stare at him blankly. "It's um, good to see you."

She finally said something. "Johnny told me that curry had gone bad."

Ianto blinked, wondering what he was supposed to say in response to that. "It's me, Rhiannon. It's Ianto."

Her blue eyes were still far too wide, but they were now moving widely, staring at him from head to toe, lingering on his face finally. Her hand rose slowly, almost hesitantly to touch at his shoulder before moving to his chin, which she touched only for a moment before gasping and stumbling away. "I-I… but you're dead. I, you _died_," Rhiannon choked out as tears began to spill from her eyes. "This is… this is _impossible_. This can't be real."

"Rhiannon, I promise you that this is me. This is real." He stepped forward a bit, reaching for her hand but she moved backwards again, receding a bit more into her house. Ianto sighed and didn't follow her, not wanting to distress her more than he already had. "I just, I wanted to make sure you knew I was alright and—"

"You wanted me to know you were alright," Rhiannon choked out a bit hysterically. "I was at your bloody funeral, and what, now you're alive and you want me to just say 'oh, well, as long as you're okay'!"

"Rhi…"

"Was it all a lie? Were you ever dead at all? Oh course you bloody weren't, standing here like you are! No wonder that bitch Gwen didn't want to give us your 'body,' bet that coffin was filled with rocks, or-or… how, how could you do that to me? To mam? Do you hate your family so much that you would put us through something like that—making us think that you'd died?"

Ianto ducked his head, eyes clenching shut as they filled with tears. This was it, this was the stupidest thing he'd ever _done_, coming here and expecting—hell, he didn't know what he'd been expecting. His sister was normal, husband and two kids _normal_, and he was Torchwood, darkening her doorstep with all the baggage of someone who dealt with the extraordinary everyday, expecting her to just accept it and welcome him back into life with open arms. She was thinner, paler, tired looking and he could only think that his death had done this to her. He'd had no right to come back here, to… to… "I-I'm sorry, Rhiannon," Ianto whispered lowly so that she wouldn't detect the tears in his voice as he began to turn around. "I'll just… just go and—"

"Don't you dare walk away from me, Ifan Jones! Not until you explain to me what in the hell is going on."

What did she want from him? He couldn't tell her the truth, and he was almost positive that the cover story he'd thought of in the SUV wouldn't cover it this time. "I… there was a mix up at the hospital and—"

Ianto reeled back stunned, clutching his bleeding mouth in the wake of Rhiannon's hit. She wasn't like most women—she didn't slap, she sucker-punched. At the most inappropriate time, Ianto couldn't help but feel a bit of pride that his sister could still hit like a man, which shouldn't be all that surprising considering that she'd taught _him_ how to fight when they were kids.

"You don't start that crap with me, don't you dare," She hissed dangerously. "I may not have gone to University like you, but don't think you can treat me like a fool, like I'm going to smile and believe it when you spout complete and utter _shite_. No hospital mix-up could possibly excuse this, Ianto. It's been, what, three _months_ and you haven't come to see me? Try again and be a bit more convincing this time."

Ianto stared into his sister's flinty blue eyes and realized that she wanted the truth. Now. She wouldn't take any more of his lies, not that she'd ever truly believed them before. But he couldn't tell her, God, how could he possibly tell her? How could he tell her about what really happened in that graveyard without telling her about Torchwood, about Canary Wharf, about _Lisa_. How could he tell Rhiannon about the darkest years of his life, about the terrible things he'd done while hiding under the façade of a civil servant?

Ianto wasn't aware of the tear sliding his cheek until Rhiannon wiped it away with the same hand she'd hit him with. "There now," she almost whispered, her voice surprising gentle. "No need for any of that. Just tell me what happened."

Ianto almost replied with a 'you can't handle the truth' but he wasn't really in the joking mood, nor did he want to get hit again. He opened his mouth, a million plausible lies on the tip of his tongue, but something stopped them from leaving his lips.

Perhaps it was because, for once, he just didn't feel like lying anymore. Or perhaps he was just too selfish to suffer alone, he wanted his burdens to become someone else's for a little while. Jack had once been that, been the strong shoulders that helped to carry all of the pain he hid behind witty one-liners and endless cups of coffee. But Jack was gone, and that weight was breaking him down so much that he felt as if he was crawling on the on the pavement with scraped knees.

So, for once, Ianto decided on truth. "I died. Then I came back about… two weeks ago. I don't know h-how, or _why_, but I'm back and I don't know what to do," Ianto finished faintly.

The words hung between them like barriers, and Ianto stared into his sister's eyes, waiting for her to tell him to leave and never come back.

But she didn't.

Rhiannon merely opened the door wider and stepped to the side. "C-Come in, then."

The moment he walked through the door, she launched herself at him with a sob, squeezing so tightly he could hardly breathe. Ianto remained immovable for a moment, stiff and slightly shell-shocked. Then Rhiannon choked out, "You're telling the truth, you're finally telling me the truth," and Ianto knew she wasn't just talking about his death, but the years of oppressive silence caused by his dishonesty. And Ianto finally relaxed, the tension completely leaving his body as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Yes, I am."

---------------------------

It took them a while to break away from each other and move to the living room, where Rhiannon sat him down with a cup of strong black tea and stared at him with inquisitive eyes until he told her. Told her about what he did for a living, about Torchwood One and Torchwood Three, about Cybermen and Daleks, about Lisa and Jack. He told her everything. Ianto talked, talked more than he could ever remember doing, his voice shifting constantly from the barest of whispers to near shouts, sometimes thick with tears and other times seething with rage. By the time he was finished, his voice was hoarse with overuse and he was only waiting for his sister to finally say something.

Rhiannon was silent for a long time as she stared out of her window with a faraway expression, and Ianto feared what she would say more with each passing moment.

Then she sighed, all of the tension leaving her body as she gave him a watery gaze and a rueful smile. "Well, shite, Yan. D'you want a smoke?"

Ianto stared at her blankly before a smile snaked across his face. "_God_ yes."

* * *

It was just his luck that Jack was teleported to Cardiff, where he immediately stumbled on a piece of cracked pavement and found himself impaled on a wrought iron fence. He only managed to free himself of it before he died, falling forward onto the cement.

When he woke, gasping and shuddering as his body was forced to heal in seconds, Jack slowly brought himself to a sitting position before grumbling. If he didn't know it was impossible, he would have said John planned that. At least there was no one around to witness his less than graceful landing, but that wouldn't last for long with the state of his now bloody clothes. And Jack growled when he realized that his greatcoat was now sporting three lovely new holes in the back, not the mention the bloodstains. Dammit, maybe if he begged he could get it fixed tonight, Ianto was becoming tired of patching up the coat every day and—

_Fuck_.

Jack's shoulders slumped as he started to walk down the street, trying to keep his thoughts as far away from the Welshman as possible. But even an idiot knew that the more you try not to think of something, the more you actually do _think_ of it. It was a vicious cycle.

He didn't know where he was, more familiar with the urban parts of Cardiff rather than this quiet rural setting, but he continued to walk carelessly, not really seeking anything familiar. The places he knew would only remind him of the lover that he'd lost, of _all_ the people he'd lost in this damn city, and the only thing he was interested in doing was finding a car to hotwire so he could get the hell out of Wales.

Then was going to find John's scrawny ass and kill him, really kill him this time. And Jack pitied him if he actually _was_ immortal, because that just meant Jack was going to have to kill him again. And again. The bastard had no right to send him here, because Cardiff would only make Jack weak and he couldn't continue on the way he had for the past few weeks—a pathetic shadow of the man he once was. The only way to get a hold of himself, to curb the overwhelming need to weep for the rest of eternity was to get as far away from Earth as possible.

Where no one knew him, where no one could find him and he could perhaps find some measure of peace alone with his nightmares and shattered dreams.

Yes, being anonymous sounded wonderful. And he was anything but anonymous here. Now, all he had to do was see about hotwiring that car— "Jack? Jack Harkness."

Jack stiffened, cursing under his breath before continuing to walk as he hadn't heard his name being called out clear as day.

"Harkness!" The voice, a woman's that was vaguely familiar, was louder now, closer to him. Jack sped up a bit, hunching his shoulders and resisting the urge to break out in a full run. He could hear the sound of quick footsteps behind him and quickly ducked into a narrow walkway between two houses, hoping that whoever it was would get the not so subtle hint.

When he felt the hand on his shoulder, he spun around quickly with a snarl. "What!"

And stared into the unimpressed face of Detective Swanson. "Are you aware that you're officially on Cardiff's missing persons list? Half of the city is looking for you."

_This day couldn't possibly get worse_, Jack thought with no little despair as Swanson crossed her arms and leveled him with a _look_.

Then the heavens rumbled and it began to rain.

* * *

Gwen was relieved when Ianto left the Hub earlier that day, admitting that he was finally going to Rhiannon's. Not just because it was about time that he talked to his family, but because he was there all the time and she was about to scream from frustration if she didn't find out how it was the Ianto had taken over Torchwood so effectively without her ever noticing. Johnson followed him around like some kind of adoring body-guard and even _Lois_ was looking more and more to Ianto for answers instead of Gwen.

That _wasn't_ how things were supposed to be, she was supposed to be in charge now. And yes, she was aware of how utterly childish that sounded, even inside of her head, but she couldn't help the way she felt. The only reason why the Hub was even _here_ right now was because of the fact she'd lived and breathed Torchwood from the moment that Jack had left Earth, doing everything that she could to make sure that the organization regained it's feet. And while Gwen was more than grateful that Ianto was back—even though she had no idea how that was even possible—he'd appeared and taken the reins from her, hiring Johnson and refusing to allow her out in the field. She was still _hardly_ showing!

Gwen ignored the small voice in the back of her head that said if it had been so easy for him to assume control then it was probably for the best the he was leading them.

It burned, because she'd proven herself to be an apt leader when Jack had gone off with the Doctor. It was she that kept the place running by taking charge and keeping everyone on task. Except for Ianto, he hadn't needed to be kept on task. In fact, he'd always seemed to anticipate what everyone needed, there with a file or artifact before they could even ask him for it. And, he knew more about the paperwork than she could have ever comprehend, telling her what she needed to sign. Actually… Gwen squirmed uncomfortably in her seat… after the first week or so, she hadn't even bothered with the paperwork because Ianto said he was more than able to forge her signature. And he seemed to know what he was doing, so she let him. He'd even handled the calls from UNIT and the Prime Minister, notifying Gwen when he felt she needed to know something. But she'd controlled everything when they'd gone out into the field, she had! Except… except for when Ianto came along, and she hadn't minded stepping back and allowing him to subtly lead them. She even remembered snapping at Owen when he second guessed Ianto's orders in the field.

Ianto's… _orders_.

Oh crap.

Tears blurred her vision and she didn't even have the energy to blame them on hormones. How could she have been so blind? How did she not notice how much of the responsibility that had rested on Ianto's shoulders in those months? Gwen had been nothing more than the public face of Torchwood, the figurehead. She'd believed herself to be the leader, telling Jack so confidently that she'd led the team in his absence. Gwen wondered if he'd ever known otherwise, if he merely took her words at face value or had just humored her because he knew who had really been controlling the things behind the scenes.

No, Jack wouldn't do that. Would he?

Gwen took a deep breath and wiped her eyes covertly, glad that Lois was exploring for the moment and not sitting at the desk next to her. She logged onto her computer and quickly got on the mainframe of the system, looking to see if Jack had listed a second in command. He must have, right? Suzie had been the first, then Owen and after he... Gwen closed her eyes and shuddered. Jack must have picked another second after Owen's death.

She was so eager to see who Jack had thought was the better leader that she didn't even hear the 'invisible' lift and stared at the electronic files with a frustrated expression. She didn't even know where to look for the damn employee database—Ianto had been the one to enter Lois and Johnson in the system.

It was all coming back to him, wasn't it? "Dammit!"

"Were you looking for something? Perhaps I can help."

Gwen jumped slightly at the sound of Ianto's voice and quickly minimized the page, turning slightly with a guilty expression on her face. "Oh, um. Nothing, it's nothing really. I was just looking through the electronic records for something. Oh, hey, are those sandwiches? I'm starved," she said hurriedly, trying to quickly change the subject.

Ianto stared at her oddly before nodding. "Yes, from the shop up the street. I got some while I was out—got you turkey on wheat, they were out of rye. Hope that's alright."

She smiled at him weakly, feeling even guiltier. Not only did he run everything, he still managed to find time to feed them! "Of course, that's fine. How did things go with Rhiannon?"

Ianto smiled genuinely, and it struck her how rare that expression was on his face. "Very well, actually. After she nearly knocked my front teeth out, at least."

Gwen raised an eyebrow as he handed her the sandwich. Ianto's face looked fine, there wasn't even a bruise. "She hit you?"

"Only once," Ianto said with a shrug, not really ready to go into all that had happened at his sister's. "Things are fine now. Rhiannon sends her love."

Gwen snorted. "I highly doubt it, but thanks for saying so."

Ianto gave her his classic deadpanned expression. "I was being sarcastic."

Gwen paused in unwrapping her sandwich long enough to throw a pencil in his direction, which he dodged quite artfully. Then she realized that her sandwich was complete with mustard and relish. "How did you know this was exactly what I'm craving?" She asked, touched by his thoughtfulness.

Ianto raised his eyebrow. "Because—"

"You know everything, I know, I know," Gwen finished with a laugh.

"I'm going to go give these to Johnson and Lois," Ianto said, gesturing to the sandwiches in response. Just as he turned around, the computer beeped, asking if she'd sign in again before the session expired. Ianto frowned, wondering why she suddenly looked so uncomfortable. "Did you find what you were looking for, by the way?"

There were those guilty eyes again, staring away from him as Gwen flushed slightly. "No, but it's alright."

"Are you sure? I could be of assistance if—"

"No!" Gwen almost snapped out. "I-I mean, no thank you Ianto, but I appreciate the offer." She gave him a weak smile and he frowned deeper, but decided to leave her be.

When Ianto left, Gwen maximized the page again, searching for something she wasn't sure she wanted to find.

* * *

_Very_, very reluctantly, Jack agreed to have coffee with Swanson after extracting a promise that she wouldn't go blabbing to all of her detective friends that he was back, however temporarily. He didn't plan on telling her anything important, he was just doing this to get her off of his back—the last thing he needed was for Swanson to get in touch with Gwen and reveal that he was in Cardiff.

Because he didn't want anything to do with Torchwood or Gwen. Nothing at all. Wasn't even curious as to how she was doing, how she and Rhys were adapting to their upcoming parenthood. Didn't want to find out if Torchwood was still present in Cardiff. Not a bit.

Yeah, he was really convincing himself here.

So he glared across the booth at Johnson as the waitress put down their drinks (coffee for Swanson and a water for him—Jack couldn't even _think_ of drinking coffee right now), skillfully ignoring the looks he was getting for his bloody and drenched appearance.

Swanson gave him a somewhat amused glance, rolling her eyes heavenward. "Still know how to make a spectacle out of yourself, don't you Harkness? Do I even want to ask where all that blood came from?"

Jack remained stubbornly silent.

She raised an eyebrow. "The famous Jack without a single smart comment? No off-color jokes or sexual advances? I may have to document this in the logs."

Jack turned his head away, gritting his teeth in anger as Swanson raised her cup to her mouth.

"Are you really going to stay silent? Because that makes it really hard for you to convince me why I shouldn't have half of the Cardiff police force outside right now."

Jack snapped his head back to her. "You said that you wouldn't say anything to anyone!"

"And I won't—provided that you give me a reason not to. Are you aware of the fact that you are under suspicion of six separate homicides, not to mention the fact that you are main suspect in the explosion that blew up the Millennium Centre? You are bloody lucky that no other member of law enforcement happened upon you—they would have had you buried under the jail by now."

"As if any of them could take me. Please, be realistic," Jack snapped, thinking about the other time he'd been buried. And if that wasn't yet another place he didn't want his mind to stray right now…

"Oh and here comes the ego," Swanson remarked with a shake of her head. "I'm surprised you could fit through the door with that big head of yours. Do you really think you're invincible, Jack?"

"You have no idea," Jack murmured, taking a sip of water.

She gave him a strange look before continuing forward in a relentless manner Jack couldn't help but admire. "So, then. Tell me why I shouldn't be turning you in."

"Well," Jack began with a shadow of his familiar smirk. "I _did_ save the world."

To his surprise, Swanson merely rolled her pretty eyes again. "Tell me something I don't know. Did you actually think I would be sitting here having coffee with you otherwise?"

Jack sputtered.

"Not that Torchwood is letting up on any details, as usual," Swanson continued. "Your little team claims to have nothing to do with that horror show a few months ago, but I know better."

"My little team?" Jack couldn't help but ask, cursing mentally the moment he said it.

"Gwen bloody Cooper is a menace, I swear and Jones is even worse," Swanson scowled and Jack's heart skipped a beat for a moment before he realized she must be talking about Martha. He couldn't help but let loose a chuckle, the first real laugh he could remember in the longest time. He hadn't even thought of the possibility that Martha would be in Cardiff—Gwen must have called her up for a bit of help. He bet the two of them were raising all kinds of hell together. _Ah, good ole Gwen. _"Thinks that I'm stupid enough to not notice the way files have disappearing from the database for the past two weeks."

"Files disappearing?" That was a bit strange. Gwen or Martha weren't skilled enough with a computer to mess with the police databases that way, not unless they'd acquired some new skills in the past few weeks. Which made him wonder who it was that was doing the hacking. Perhaps UNIT was sparing a few more specialists other than Martha to keep Torchwood running temporarily. God, he hoped not—UNIT and Torchwood were nothing but trouble when they operated under close quarters.

Swanson gave him a dry look, clearly knowing that he was trying to pump her for information. "That's not the way things work, Harkness. You answer _my_ questions, not the other way around."

"Then ask," Jack shot back nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair and threading his fingers behind his head.

Swanson gave him a rather disconcerting smirk, as if she knew something that he didn't. "Very well then. Can you tell me why Ianto Jones' death certificate has been deleted from the coroner's database and why his grave doesn't exist any longer? Or how he's been cited around Cardiff and seems content to give me the bloody run around on the phone every time I get in touch with him when I saw his body myself? Or how no one else seems to recall that he's been _dead_ for the past two months? Just how much do you know about the new head of Torchwood?"

Jack froze—didn't breath, didn't move a muscle as his brain struggled to process what Swanson was getting at. He could swear that his heart stopped beating and he didn't notice Swanson's increasing concerned expression until she reached over the table to shake his shoulder vigorously. "Snap out of it, Harkness! _Breathe_, for Christ's sake."

And now he was shaking, eyes blurring and the very world itself to seemed to tremble before he managed to reel himself in with a will he didn't know he had. "_What_ did you just say?"

**TBC**

**Notes on Rhiannon: **Before any of you ask, I am not bashing Rhiannon as a character. So please don't judge her too harshly for the way she reacts to Ianto's resurrection—I'm going for realism here, and I just don't find it very realistic that she'd immediately fall into his arms crying how she missed him and saying that every thing was hunky-dory. Plus, Ianto as been somewhat estranged from his family due to his career choice (Torchwood) so her reaction is also a response to be cut out of her brother's life for so long. She has taken more than enough of her brother's secrets and is taking no prisoners until she gets the truth out of him. Which isn't a bad thing, really.

Also, I do realize that some of this may seem a bit out of character for Ianto, but I don't think it is so far off. I see him as an intensely private individual and breaking a habit of silence to let Rhiannon in would be very hard for him.


	7. Chapter Six: Reunions and Meetings, Pt

**Summary**: Jack isn't the only Torchwood member with restorative powers. At least, not anymore. Jack/Ianto—Post COE.

**Rating**: R++ overall, this individual chapter…. PG-15ish?

**Warnings for this chapter**: Profanity, violence, angst… and that's it for now?

**Disclaimer**: In no way, shape, or form do I claim any ownership over the Torchwood/Doctor Who Universe. This is a slash fanfiction. Don't like it? Don't read it!

**Author's note**: Okay, so it is currently Monday morning, very _very _early Monday morning as I write this with the hope of being able to post today. Hopefully, that will happen. This chapter will be the shortest one that I've written yet for this story, and it was nearly posted unbetaed due to the rush (totally my fault, I promise). **Vittani **is awesome for getting this back to me before a good 10 hours had passed—I bow to her beta-ing skill!

And because this isn't really a full chapter, Jack and Ianto will not be meeting in this chapter—I need a few more pages before that can happen.

*Dodges rotten apples*

But I'll update before the end of the week to give you the second half of this chapter, guys. Hope you still enjoy this chapter besides that disappointment.

Also, there are quite a few POV shifts in this chapter. Sorry if it's a bit hard to switch back and forth.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Six: Reunions and Meetings, Pt. 1**

So, either Ianto had a damn convincing doppelganger out there somewhere or the other man had come back to life. Unfortunately, Jack was more likely to believe the former than the latter. He just wondered how in the hell whatever-it-was had managed to fool Gwen. And he couldn't help but be angry with her for not knowing—how dare something pretend to be _Ianto_ and Gwen didn't notice? Hadn't being in Torchwood taught her anything about not letting that bleeding heart of hers overtake her common sense? Was she that eager to see one of her teammates back from the dead that she would take some crap 'miraculous revival' story at face value? God, it was enough to make his blood boil.

A small voice that he couldn't help but listen to urged him to be open to the fact that Ianto may, in fact, be alive. He couldn't deny the mere thought that somehow, _somehow_ Ianto had managed to come back was enough to make his blood race with excitement and love and _life_—God, just the thought made Jack feel alive again. But he pushed down his elation as far as it would go, knowing it would hurt all the more when he found out that Ianto hadn't come back, that something alien was wearing his face. There was no one else in the world, hell Universe, like Jack—someone who would bounce back from death again and again, someone who would come back to life before his body started to get cold.

It was high time that he realized that, and stopped wishing for things that would never happen.

He left Swanson in the small diner not too long ago after extracting everything he possibly could about this 'Ianto' imposter. In return, he gave her a bare minimum account of what had happened in those days with the 456 and Earth's children. He could tell that she'd wanted him to elaborate on a few points (such as how exactly he was able to send a deadly signal back to the 456 representative) but she didn't voice any commands, seeming relatively content with the explanation he'd given her. Surprisingly enough, she promised to try and take care of things at her office so that the police force of Cardiff wouldn't have his face plastered on a 'Most Wanted' poster. It was then that Jack realized why she hadn't been Retconned with the others—give her a little bit of information, and Swanson was more than useful. Hell, it was likely that she could become the police liaison that they'd needed so badly, since Gwen hadn't really been able to fulfill that aspect of her self-assigned duties.

Not that he had any plan of staying longer than it would take to destroy this thing that was playing at being Ianto. He wasn't in any way interested in Torchwood any longer. He would just deal with this one issue and leave Earth. Well, kill John _then_ leave Earth.

That was the plan and Jack was sticking to it.

Then he was standing outside of the Hub, memories hitting him so hard that all he could see was Ianto. Memories of the young man even before they'd begun a physical relationship, relentlessly made themselves known. Ianto's utter distain for the team's lack of cleanliness, his adoption of the chaotic Archives and outdated tourist shop. His suits and coffee, the way his voice sounded when he called Jack on his 'sexual harassment.' The passion and fire awoken when the 'Lisa' incident happened, perhaps the first time he'd ever really _seen_ Ianto.

And he had fallen in love. Irrevocably, unimaginably, completely in love with a man so reckless that he'd nearly caused a Cyberman Holocaust because he loved his girlfriend too much to let her go.

His Ianto.

And staring into that tourist shop, Jack did the only thing he could.

He began to walk away.

Then he heard the distant sounds of a rather familiar alarm.

* * *

The child in holding cell nine was not a child at all.

Ianto had taken the liberty (and of course, he was the only person who _would_) to look in the Archives until he found something remotely resembling a creature that appeared as a child and could be shot several times without dying. His results informed him that that 'girl' was a Gyve, a kind of alien born with the intelligence of an adult (passed down through the genetic material of the parents) but remained in child form until they were activated as adults through some sort of device. What that device was, Ianto couldn't be completely sure about, but he suspected the necklace they'd found. It was under Gwen's observation—the woman had sworn to treat it with the utmost care and Ianto didn't have the heart to start an argument with her over it considering the fact that she wasn't on field assignments anymore.

They were also quite difficult to kill—they did not have organs in the way that humans did, instead they possessed a rather complex network of nerves and veins. In order to die in any way other than old age, they had to be dismembered to sever the major arteries and nerves. And the last thing any of them wanted to do was chop up anything resembling a child.

Ianto was supposed to be figuring out whether the Gyve had somehow fallen through the rift, or if she'd arrived through a ship (which might account for the third signal they still hadn't been able to find). Instead, he was thinking of Jack.

He'd been rather admirably avoiding the subject of 'Jack' for the past few days in his mind, but reading the information on the Gyve had been similar to a slap in the face with a cold, wet towel. The report, as were many of the reports on encountered aliens, was written by Jack. This one was rather old, hand written and containing so many spelling errors it made Ianto's head spin, slang from the 60s and 70s even though the report was penned in the 1920s, and had more than one side note on why Gyves were not ideal bed partners. Even if you were 'desperate enough to do an anthill.' It was ridiculous and unprofessional and it was a wonder that whoever was in charge back then allowed the file to pass any type of inspection.

God, the whole thing was so… so…

_Jack_.

He could practically hear his lover's voice as he'd read the damn thing, and it was bloody difficult to concentrate on anything when all he could think was Jack, Jack, Jack.

And while he thought of Jack, Jack, Jack, the 'child' in cell nine wasted away.

They'd tried to give her all types of sustenance—plant, animal, even a plethora of alien nutritional supplements, and nothing was working. She was starving slowly, and it was agonizing to watch.

It hadn't decreased the Gyve's aggression any, however, and any of their attempts to communicate had proven unsuccessful. After Ianto had yet another near miss with the alien's claws (which resulted in his favorite shirt—_Jack's_ favorite on him—being completely ruined), he found himself suddenly less sympathetic to the Gyve's plight. Still, Gwen's well of compassion as well as his own conscious kept him looking for a solution. Lois, who was suitably cautious now, suggested that they send a sample of the alien's DNA to UNIT and perhaps see if any of their biologists could pinpoint something that might be edible for the creature. While he was happy that she was showing a bit more initiative, Ianto was reluctant to deal with UNIT, considering that would give them an 'in' to snoop around his resurrection. He was fending off enough calls from them as it was in regards to sudden reappearance, not to mention the fact that he was running Three now.

Yes, the last thing he needed was to be labeled as dangerous and thrown into some hellish UNIT cell.

But, they couldn't exactly let the Gyve waste away, either.

"Sir?"

He turned around, finally understanding how the word 'sir' could become somewhat tiresome. But he wouldn't tell Johnson to call him Ianto—not yet, at least. She was still on a probationary timeframe, and the last thing he needed at the moment was for her to lose respect in him. Johnson, after all, was one of the few people to whom the word 'sir' held real meaning.

"Yes, Johnson?"

"I think we may have a problem with the… alien in cell nine."

Ianto raised an eyebrow. "Besides the fact that it's unable to communicate with us, hostile, starving, and consistently ruining my wardrobe?"

There was hardly a pause. "Yes, sir." And, one of these days, Ianto was going to find a way to crack the hard mask Johnson was walking around with like it was her face. "I was looking at the CCTV feed from last night, and I noticed something… peculiar."

Ianto waited for her to elaborate, a bit confused by Johnson's uncharacteristic hesitance.

"It—"

A shrieking alarm sounded and they were suddenly plunged into darkness as something compromised the Hub's security. It only took him a moment to register what was happening and then he cursed, reaching backwards for Johnson and dragging her as he ran full speed towards where he knew the exit was. He had to get there before the lights turned back on, before the system had a chance to—

Ianto collided with the closed door a moment after he heard the deep sound of a steel lock clicking into place. Then the back-up lights turned on, shadowing everything in a dull orange hue. "Dammit," He hissed against the closed door, not even trying to push it open. That would be a futile action, and few things Ianto did were futile.

"What just happened?" Johnson's gun was out as she looked around the dimly lit hallway of the Archives, and Ianto could see the unease in her eyes.

"We're sealed in the Archives, _that's_ what just happened. And now we're in lockdown for the next two hours, longer if I can't get in touch with Gwen to tell her how to disable the security," Ianto said with a sigh, not letting on his own unease at the idea of something dangerous roaming free in the almost-darkness with them. Because he had an idea of what had triggered the alarm.

He just didn't understand how.

"And what triggers this 'lockdown' mode?"

"A breach in security, either something breaking in or something—"

"Breaking out," Johnson finished grimly.

They shared a look, and she sighed. "Are you armed, sir?"

"Of course," Ianto said, pulling out his gun with a highly affronted look. And there it was, the slightest twitch upwards that merely suggested a hint of a smile.

Ianto smirked at her, knowing she was about to get her first real initiation into Torchwood. "Now might be a good time to tell me what you thought was so peculiar."

* * *

Gwen cursed, calling for Ianto with her comm as she tried to access the computer system on her desk.

There was no response, of course.

"Great," she muttered out from clenched teeth. "Just bloody wonderful."

"What's going on," Lois asked nervously, looking down at the remnants of the mug she'd shattered when the lights first went out.

"Breach in security," Gwen grunted as she bent over, trying to find the switch Tosh had told her about in the event of a lockdown in the back of her modem.

"You shouldn't be bending down," Lois said worriedly, her hands going out ineffectively to steady Gwen's crouched form that didn't need any steadying. Dammit, why didn't people understand she was only barely pregnant? From the way everyone acted, one would swear she was ready to pop! "Let me get whatever it is."

"Believe me," Gwen said with a relieved sigh as she clicked on the switch and the system booted up. "My bending down is the least of our worries if what just happened is what I _think_ just happened."

"And what is that?" Gwen noticed, with a bit of almost maternal pride, that Lois had already reached for the gun she'd been given only two days earlier. She'd been the one to teach Lois how to shoot after they retrieved the Gyve, eager to prove that 'pregnant' was not a synonym for 'invalid.'

Especially not in Gwen's case.

And she'd done a damn fine job of teaching someone who was almost comically skittish of firearms how to handle a Torchwood standard issue handgun. Gwen would like to think that Jack would be proud of her, well, except for the fact that she hadn't used gun training as a way to feel Lois up. She had a feeling Jack would be a bit disappointed about that.

She let out a sad smile and pushed thoughts of Jack to the back of her mind. He wasn't here. Gwen was. And there was something loose in the Hub. Something dangerous.

Well, and what else was bloody new?

"Our little Gyve is out and about, I'm guessing," Gwen finally answered. "And I don't think she's very happy with us. Let's just hope that 'human' isn't in her diet."

Lois blanched, but her jaw was clenched in determination. "I did sign up for this, didn't I?"

"Yep," Gwen said a bit too cheerfully as she hacked into the mainframe without the genius of Tosh or Ianto's skill, but she could manage at least this—she was no dummy, after all. "About time you find out how mad it usually is around here."

"So… what do we do now?" Lois pressed after a minute of silence, gun clenched in her sweaty hand and facing the floor.

"First," Gwen replied, "We get in touch with Ianto."

And Gwen knew she must look mad, with a smile that couldn't be dimmed stretching across her face even though they would likely not be coming out of this unscathed, but by God, it felt good to finally be back in the game.

It felt _so_ damn good.

She might actually get a chance to use her gun.

* * *

At first, Jack wondered if he was hearing something that wasn't there, if the memories were so loud in his head that he was hearing echoes of past encounters…. Past alarms.

Because there was no way that it could be heard all the way from underground, as faint as the sound might be. It had never had in all of his years at Torchwood. The Hub's lockdown siren just wasn't that loud—but this wasn't his Hub. It was a replication, not the original. It was new and likely updated and _that was the alarm_.

Jack was running before he registered his legs moving, nearly knocking down the tourist center's door in his haste—Ianto had always said Jack had a natural aversion to doorknobs—and he was not thinking of Ianto right now. The sound was even louder now, as Jack pressed hands against the secret door that he thought he'd never lay eyes on again.

He almost frantically punched in his code, somehow knowing that it would still work even though he'd told Gwen to forget him, that he'd never come back. And it opened just as the alarm stopped and Jack quickly pushed the heavy door, utilizing the remaining momentum the machine still had. It was just enough to squeeze through, and suddenly he was in darkness just before the sound of metal shutting behind him and the thick shuffling of bolt locks sliding into place reverberated through the long corridor. Then the grainy emergency lights lit his way, and Jack began to make his way underground.

And Jack didn't allow himself to hope that Gwen was alive, that she had somehow escaped being slain by this pretend-Ianto's treachery. Likely, _she_ set off the alarm in her last moments to keep the thing from reaching the outside world. He was a fool to even _think_ of hoping that Ianto may have come back to life, a fool to get caught in memories of what didn't exist anymore while Gwen was in danger. He should have come here the moment Swanson said the name 'Ianto Jones.' But he had been a coward, stalling and wishing and trying to live in denial.

And while he lived in denial, Gwen very well may have died.

God, he was likely too late. Unable to do anything but be left with another person to mourn. Jack held his despair in with a hard expression as he reached the lift, pressing a few handy buttons to his vortex manipulator (which wasn't _completely_ fixed, but would now be even more handy for situations like this) and steel himself for this sight of the Cog door. There was no time for weakness.

Because at least Jack could kill the thing that did this personally, something he hadn't been able to manage with the 456. Feel the blood—whatever color it may be—splatter as he put his rarely used interrogation skills to test.

But it wouldn't be an interrogation.

No, just murder.

Slow. Torturous.

Two things Jack knew how to do well.

**TBC!**

**Next chapter, guys, I promise!**


	8. Chapter Seven: Reunions and Meetings Pt2

**Summary**: Jack isn't the only Torchwood member with restorative powers. At least, not anymore. Jack/Ianto—Post COE.

**Rating**: R++ overall, this individual chapter…. PG-15ish?

**Warnings for this chapter**: Profanity, violence, angst… and that's it for now?

**Disclaimer**: In no way, shape, or form do I claim any ownership over the Torchwood/Doctor Who Universe. This is a slash fanfiction. Don't like it? Don't read it!

**Author's note**: So, thanks to everyone for bearing with me and sorry for the _very, very_ unintentional hiatus. Clearly, I didn't keep my promise of getting this out to you guys in less than a week—really, really sorry that I didn't keep good to my word. RL reared its ugly head and buried me under a mountain of work. By the time I'd managed to climb my way out, it'd far too long since I'd updated. Also, I'm behind on my reviews and I'm trying to catch up, so I apologize if anyone's review is left unanswered. If you have a burning question that needs to be answered that I don't get to in the next day or so, **feel free to PM, review, or email me so I can answer it to the best of my ability**.

I'm sorry this chapter is a bit short, but I figured that a short update was better than none at all. The semester is now over, thank God, and this story is overdue for a few updates, don't you think?

Enjoy!

P.S: It may feel like Gwen is going to steal the show in the beginning of this chapter, but I promised you a Janto reunion, and you'll get one! Just don't kill me for the cliffy, because more is one the way soon (I mean it this time!). This whole staying true to the characters thing is a bitch, though.

And thanks to my lovely beta **Vittani** for getting this back to me so quickly and bearing with my killer writer's block!

**Chapter Seven: Reunions and Meetings, Pt. 2 **

Nothing was quite as uncomfortable as being trapped in a room with someone who you didn't have much to say to. It didn't help that Johnson seemed utterly composed and still as they waited for _something_, while Ianto had the oddest need to fidget.

Which was strange in itself.

Because Ianto didn't fidget.

Ever.

And yet there was an odd itch underneath his skin to move, do something other than stare blankly at a door that wasn't likely to open anytime soon. It was something he'd felt only once before—when he and Tosh had been trapped in that basement by those damned cannibals. And if that wasn't something he wanted to be thinking about, when there was something lurking in the Hub that might actually want to _eat_ him.

It was unlikely that anything would be able to get past that steel door. Then again, they didn't know what this alien was capable of in terms of strength. Jack's report read more like a badly edited harlequin novel than an actual file. Gyves were "strong enough to pick you up and show you a good time—which is not always as fun as it sounds." Ianto wasn't sure if that translated into bending steel or not.

But he was almost certain that they were dealing with a fully-grown Gyve now. Especially in light of what Johnson managed to observe from the CCTV.

The Gyve hadn't been merely starving before their eyes, as it had appeared. It had been _growing_, that is to say, becoming an adult physically. Yet another thing Jack had failed to cover in that nightmare of a report—what actually happened when a Gyve matured. Johnson, by pure chance, was able to witness the alien shoot up close to an inch in height, something most would have missed from the grainy CCTV feed, but the woman had the eyes of a bloody hawk.

The necklace must have somehow triggered it in that warehouse… how in the hell could he have missed something like that?

How could he be expected to lead this team, to keep them safe, if he couldn't even notice a threat right under their noses?

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ianto stopped that train of thought immediately. He was human—at least he still hoped he was—and he'd made a mistake. God only knows that Jack had made them. He couldn't possible hold himself up to an unreal standard, especially when the life expectancy of a Torchwood employee was about 3-5 years on an optimistic scale. Hell, under Hartman, you were considered a veteran if you lasted more than two. They were dealing with dangers most of the world couldn't even comprehend, things that put their life in jeopardy daily.

Ianto couldn't think of the what-ifs. He only had to worry about getting his team through this night with all of their limbs and vital organs intact. Watching as Johnson practiced drawing her gun so quickly that her hands seemed blurred, Ianto didn't think it would be nearly as hard as he feared.

He still couldn't help but feel useless, however. There had to be something he could do… something. It wasn't until he noticed the label on a shelved artifact that he realized what part of the archives they were trapped in.

Then he smiled and got to work.

* * *

Gwen got the comms to work for a moment before the signal crackled out of existence again, not even long enough to hear Ianto's voice and know that he was alright. But there was nothing she could do.

For the moment, at least.

She wasn't having much luck with the computers either, and Gwen could tell that Lois was becoming more and more antsy by the minute. Gwen was feeling much of the same. Why wasn't the damn Gyve just _attacking_ instead of hiding? What was it planning? _How_ could it be planning anything other than finding a meal, half-starved as the poor thing was?

Gwen mentally reeled herself back, recalling something Jack had once said to her. _"There's nothing worse than misguided sympathy. So please, for the love of _God_, never refer to something that's trying to kill you as a 'poor thing,' Gwen."_

Damn.

She wished Jack were here. Even his snarky comments would be welcome.

It was then that she suddenly registered the sound of steps and a few things happened in quick succession.

Before Gwen could swivel around in her chair, Lois gave a small shriek of surprise and the sound of a gun firing rang out in the air. This was followed by a much deeper yelp and the sound of someone jumping out of the trajectory of the bullet.

Gwen was out of the chair in a moment, gun pointed where she could only see the merest hint of a boot as Lois gaped at the gun she'd just fired.

"Hands out and up!"

The boots disappeared momentarily as the man picked himself up, moving into her sight.

And Gwen nearly dropped her gun in shock.

Jack.

Dear god, it was _Jack_.

He looked… terrible. His eyes were nearly glazed over with something like madness, his skin dewed with sweat from the unreal heat of the Hub now that the air conditioning wasn't functioning. Rather than making him appear well-shagged, he looked unhealthy. Like someone who was feverish. And his expression: so wild and lost.

It made her shiver.

Then his eyes widened, taking in her form—her gun still hadn't lowered a bit, her body was so stiff with shock—and he seemed to make an aborted effort to step towards her, then seemed oddly hesitant as he paused.

"Gwen." It was a breathless utterance, disbelieving and almost giddy sounding.

"Jack," Gwen nearly whispered back, her cheeks already wet with tears that she couldn't blame on hormones. Her gun finally lowered, and her knees began to buckle as she staggered towards a man who, despite what she may have said to Ianto, Gwen thought she would never see again.

His arms were around her before she even felt him move, choked sobs bubbling within her chest as Jack crushed her to his heaving chest, pressing an almost harsh kiss to the top of her head. She shuddered in his arms, feeling herself break apart and finally knowing that Torchwood would be okay, that _she_ would be okay. That she could go home and sleep with Rhys' arms around her without thoughts of rebuilding and management and Ianto's mysterious resurrection plaguing her. Because Jack was here. And he would make everything make sense again.

After a long moment, where time almost seemed to still, Jack let her go and Gwen reluctantly allowed herself to be pried off of him with a wet sniffle, laughing almost hysterically in her relief and delight. "Jack… what…" her voice trailed off. He stared down at her for a moment, his blue eyes alight with… relief?

Then Jack's mouth moved into an infuriating—and familiar—smirk.

"Missed me?"

It was all she could do to not shoot him in the head. In fact, she thought woozily, if Jack's would stop spinning, she just might…

Gwen came back to herself with a start, her skin feeling uncomfortably hot as she noticed two pair of eyes staring down at her worriedly. "Are you alright, Gwen?" Lois said softly, her hand reaching out to feel the pregnant woman's clammy forehead.

"Fine," Gwen responded automatically, her eyes roving over to Jack. "What happened?"

"You got a bit woozy for a second, that's all. Your condition's not conducive to overly emotional reunions," Jack responded readily with a cheeky tone.

Gwen sat up slowly, accounted for all of her limbs to make sure everything was working (habit of the job, really), then pulled back her right fist with all her might.

And few things were as satisfying as seeing Jack's stunned face as he sat up slowly, moving around his jaw slowly. Even if her knuckles did smart quite a bit.

Gwen scowled down at Jack as Lois looked between the two of them uncertainly, clearly confused. Well, good, because she was confused as well. And pissed. Rightfully pissed.

Jack winced as he got back to his feet. "Guess I deserved that," he admitted grudgingly.

"Bloody right you did, Jack. Leaving me with all of the cleanup the way you did," Gwen hissed out, pissed. Now that she was over the shock of seeing him again, her affection was quickly becoming overshadowed with anger.

"I think it was the right thing to do," Jack began earnestly, annoyingly enough. "Just look at this place, Gwen. It's amazing. I'm not sure I could have done this—you were strong enough to get Torchwood up and running again." He had on that sincere expression, but she knew him well enough to know when she was being manipulated, and right now Jack was only complimenting her to halt her rightful anger.

"So now you're ready to take your place back on the thrown now that all of the grunt work has been finished?" Gwen bit out acerbically. "After we've adapted without you, _again_?"

For the first time, Jack looked uncomfortable. "Well… not exactly. This is just a visit."

"What do you mean?" Gwen asked suspicion. Surely Jack couldn't mean to leave again.

"I mean—well, I'm not planning on staying."

Gwen was stunned for a moment, then angry and confused. How could Jack put them through all of this? What about all that Gwen had done to get Torchwood up and running again, holding out for Jack's return? He couldn't just _leave_. Oh, god. What about Ianto?

Jack didn't even _know_.

"Jack—it's, well, Ianto he—"

"I know, Gwen," Jack interrupted with a snap, eyes darkening and jaw clenching.

Gwen reeled back in surprise at the unadulterated hate in his expression. "Know _what_?" Jack couldn't possibly know Ianto was alive, and even if he did, it certainly wouldn't make him angry.

Jack turned away with a barely concealed growl. "How could you let yourself be fooled like this Gwen? Has being on this team for the past two years taught you absolutely _nothing_?" He snapped out, not answering the question and only furthering her confusion.

"What are you—"

_Krrrk… Rrrksh… Rrrrrshhhhh…_

Gwen froze midsentence as unearthly screeches sounded, while Jack whipped his head around wildly, attempting to locate the noise. Lois, too scared to make a sound, merely moved in closer to Gwen, who pushed aside her residual dizziness as she looked for something to aim her gun at.

But no target was forthcoming.

"What in _hell_… was that?" Jack hissed, sounding pissed. "What in the hell did you let into my Hub?"

"_Your_ Hub? Possessive words for a man that's leaving," Gwen shot back, too focused on looking around the area to really get full satisfaction from Jack's expression. The nerve of him—as if they'd wanted the damn Gyve to get loose!

_Krrrhhhssss_.

"Seriously, Gwen. I need to know what we're dealing with," Jack murmured, eyes focused to the left. Gwen quickly turned, knowing Jack must have noticed something she hadn't. Prick or not, the man's hearing was well above par. "I need to know what I'm about to be killing."

"It's—"

"A Gyve. And no offense, sir, but I don't believe you have the jurisdiction to be dictating whether or not we execute it."

Jack stilled in surprise, turning back slightly to Lois and giving the girl an appraising look. She seemed to quell slightly under his sideways stare, skin turning pink, before straightening her shoulders and fixing her mouth in a stern line was somehow equally cute and sexy.

Jack could definitely see the appeal.

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Because…" Lois hesitated, flushing even further as Gwen's eyes turned to her as well. "Because, a-according to ordinance 4.12.15, you… you voided all claims of Torchwood leadership when you left the planet's atmosphere without n-notification." Lois could have fried an egg on her face after stammering out her defiant little explanation, but her hazel eyes were still stubborn. Gwen's mouth was quirked slightly at one side, a twinkle of 'at-a-girl' in her eyes.

And Jack finally understood why Lois Habiba was the newest member of Torchwood.

But as much as he was enjoying little Lois's macho side, he was going to have to take the wind out of her sails. "Hate to tell you, honey, but what you're fighting right now isn't a Gyve. It may sound the same, but the MO's all off." And actually, Jack hadn't meant to sound quite that condescending.

_Skkkkrrrsssh_, the thing shrieked like bad radio static from their right. As they turned quickly, trying to get a lock on it to no avail, Gwen shot Jack an ugly look.

"And you know this how, Jack? I don't remember you being here when we got a positive ID from UNIT, who I dare say, might have a bit more experience with Gyves than you do. Unless, of course, we're talking about the fact that you've managed to fuck nearly every species of alien from here to the next galaxy."

Jack exhaled heavily out of his nose, honestly surprised by the hostility in Gwen's voice. "It's because I've _fucked_ one that I know this isn't what we're dealing with. And since when do you listen to UNIT, Gwen? If you would have done the research yourself, you would know that no Gyve can shape shift!"

"Shape… shift?" Gwen repeated slowly. "What on Earth are you on about?"

Jack gave her an impatient look. "Usually you're quicker on the uptake. Then again, you did let a freaking alien that looked like Ianto_ into the Hub_, so I might have overestimated you."

Lois let out a choked, confused noise. And Gwen, she actually lowered her gun, turning to stare at Jack in astonishment.

There was a long silence, a silence that was not even interrupted by an untimely shriek.

Then… "Have you lost your _mind_?"

"Have you lost yours?" Jack countered, unable to believe the woman had actually failed to notice what was going on.

"Ianto?" Lois interrupted tentatively. "_Our_ Ianto Jones? But Ianto, he's not an alien, sir."

And Gwen, to Jack's irritation, was still shaking her head in disbelief. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I know more than you."

"You've been gone for _months_, Jack. Long enough for my stomach to get round and for Ianto to come back—"

"Stop it, Gwen. Just accept that whatever you have in here isn't Ian—"

"For Ianto to come back," Gwen repeated, speaking over him. "He's back. You left, and he came back. He's alive, and—"

"No!" Jack snapped out forcefully. "He isn't, Gwen. You're confused."

"And you're an idiot. And the thing that keeps making that god-awful noise is a Gyve Ianto picked up a few days ago in an abandoned warehouse!"

"No," Jack repeated angrily, hoarsely. "That's not… not right. You don't know what I know. The dead can't come back. Ever."

"I know more than you do. I know that Ianto was trapped in a steel room in the archives when the Hub went into lockdown, which quite effectively makes it impossible for him to be what's trying to attack us now."

Jack's jaw worked furiously for a moment. "I don't believe you."

"Doesn't matter what you believe, Jack," Gwen said almost sadly. "Ianto's back. He's been back for weeks now."

"That's not true. It's, it's some thing that looks like him… s-something not… real," Jack denied, his expression almost shell shocked. He was shaking slightly, Gwen noticed, his mouth trembling as his eyes glazed over slightly. She wondered what was going through his head. If she was getting through that thick head of his.

"It is. I promise you, I _swear_. I would never allow something wearing Ianto's face to fool me! For God's sake Jack, believe me!"

"I can't!" Jack yelled back, rise in his voice making Lois jump.

"Why not?" Gwen asked softly.

"Because I would know! I would fucking—" Jack's voice cracked. "There's no way," He continued on somewhat hysterically, "That he could exist anywhere in this Universe and I wouldn't feel it. How c-could I not know the moment he… he… Fuck! It's not, not possible," Jack whispered. "I just… I would _know_." Jack's knees were shaking now, and the gun in his hand was shaking so badly that Gwen was halfway worried his might misfire it. And he looked…

He looked like a man who was afraid to believe that what he wanted so badly could be true. Afraid that he would break again and that nothing could put him back together.

And before her eyes, Gwen began to see the unstoppable Captain Jack Harkness fall apart.

"Jack," she whispered softly as tears began to stream down his face, remembering a time when she didn't believe he could truly cry. "Jack, please." She couldn't bear to see him cry, not now as the tears began to well up in her own eyes. Not when everything was so close to being okay, and not when he held onto the stubborn belief that Ianto was lost to him.

_Kkkkrrsshhhhhkkkkkkkkkkkkhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrr_—"_Gwen_?"

Gwen jumped at the sound of her voice being issued out of thin air after the especially long shriek. That had sounded like…. like Ianto.

Had she imagined it?

"_Gwen, Lois? Can you hear me_?" The words were followed by that familiar shriek, which Gwen suddenly realized wasn't quite what she had assumed it was.

"Ianto?" She called out tentatively, unable to take his eyes off of Jack. The man was frozen, his head turned in the direction of Ianto's voice. He wasn't moving. God, it didn't even look as if Jack was _breathing_.

"_God, finally_," His relieved voice came from the right now, preceded by high-pitched static. And Jack's blue eyes roved over the area almost madly, waiting for Ianto to materialize before his eyes. "_Are you and Lois alright? I've been trying to get in touch with you for the longest time now, didn't know how this bloody thing worked_—"

"What thing?" Gwen interrupted as Jack stumbled his way to lean on a desk. She wanted to reach out to him, comfort him somehow, but he looked unhinged… like a cornered, mad animal. She wasn't even sure if he was aware of anything right now other than the sound of Ianto's voice, or the static that preceded it. He was taking in deep, almost high-pitched breaths and if she approached him now, Gwen figured he might lash out.

"_Alien tech_," Ianto's voice came from above now and Jack snapped his head upwards so hard it looked painful. "_It's a teleporter," _Srrrkkkss_ "…bu…I …uldn't get a lock on another location in the Hub to transport Johnson and I…." _Kkkrrrssshhh_ "about to come through, so… pare yourself... I'm quite sure I m… miscalculate and land on some…s head_."

The interference made the message hard to understand, but Jack seemed to have heard it perfectly because he finally acted, pulling Lois away from Gwen's desk swiftly and yanking on Gwen's unresisting form until she rested against his chest. The static shrieking—a noise they had wrongfully attributed to the Gyve—sounded again, but it didn't stop. The sound grew louder and louder as thin, pulsing green cracks in the air appeared before her eyes, as if the very fabric of the world was tearing itself apart. The sight was blinding even as the sound began to die off and she soon had to close her eyes against the spellbinding sight.

As the light—it was so bright she could see it even from behind her closed lids—began to expand, the world became silent except for Lois's frantic breaths against her side and the almost overpowering _thud, thud_ of Jack's heart against her ear.

And when Gwen opened her eyes again, Ianto was standing there, looking lost.

She could feel Jack's grip on her tighten almost painfully before his arms began to slacken, and as his heart raced even further. She wondered what must have been going through his mind—Gwen remembered the night she'd found Ianto in the Hub and shuddered. It was likely tenfold worse for Jack, who honestly believed his lover was dead for all this time.

Of course, Johnson had to ruin the moment by raising her gun to Jack, who hadn't even spared a look in her direction since he'd laid eyes on Ianto. Gwen doubted that Jack remembered anyone else was in the room. His arms around her and Lois were no longer strong, they were lax, shaking and lowering.

Only a few feet away, Ianto's clear blue eyes widened as he finally took in the sight before him, mouth moving silently as if he couldn't get the words out. But, finally, one sound got through his numb and shocked lips.

"Jack?"

**TBC**


	9. Chapter Eight:The Not So Fainting Violet

**Summary**: Jack isn't the only Torchwood member with restorative powers. At least, not anymore. Jack/Ianto—Post COE.

**Rating**: R++ overall, this individual chapter…. PG-15ish?

**Warnings for this chapter**: Profanity, violence, angst… and that's it for now?

**Disclaimer**: In no way, shape, or form do I claim any ownership over the Torchwood/Doctor Who Universe. This is a slash fanfiction. Don't like it? Don't read it!

**Author's note**: So, thanks to everyone for bearing with me. My plan is to get this story to about 80,000 words by December… let's see how that goes. Also, I'm adding a new feature to the chapters of this fic, a quote to set the mood. Hope everyone enjoys them—they'll be from pretty eclectic sources.

In this chapter: Ianto gets pissed, Jack gets bombarded and tries to apologize, Lois and Johnson get confused, and Gwen gets hormonal.

Also, much thanks to my new beta, **ArizonaGarbage**, for helping me get this chapter in viewing condition!

**Chapter Eight: The Not So Fainting Violet **

"Real life's nasty. It's cruel.

It doesn't care about heroes and happy endings and the way things should be.

In real life, bad things happen.

People die. Fights are lost.

Evil often wins."

Darren Shan, _Cirque Du Freak: A Living Nightmare_

"Jack?" Ianto was still, even as Jack began to move towards him, his steps faltering and dragging clumsy as if he was learning to walk again. God, could it really be Jack? He idly wondering if that swipe the alien had taken at him a couple of days ago released some sort of hallucinogen in his blood.

He'd reconciled himself with the fact that he would never see Jack again.

Somehow though, he'd forgotten. Forgotten the way the man made his heart pound and ache all over with regret and love and fear of the weight of his feelings. But, now, looking to Jack's devastated face, Ianto was quickly remembering.

"How?" Jack's voice was hoarse. He took another faltering step toward Ianto and the younger man nearly flinched back, unsure that he could keep himself from falling apart if Jack came close enough to touch him.

_God_, he wanted Jack to touch him again.

"Apparently, you're not the only one fails to find permanence in death," Ianto answered finally, his voice miraculously even despite the emotions storming through his eyes. Despite the way his vision was blurring with tears and the way his limbs began to shake.

Jack took another step forward and Ianto forgot to breathe. Jack was so close to him now. His lover let out a shaky, incredulous, _joyous_ sound. "You-you can't be real. I'm dreaming."

"I assure you," Ianto said back, just as shakily. "I'm quite real. In fact, if one of us were part of a dream, it would undoubtedly be you." Jack had always said he was everyone's wet dream.

Modesty wasn't one of the man's strong points.

Everyone waited with baited breath for the two to finally meet. Even Johnson, who had finally lowered her gun, her threatening posturing long forgotten as the two lovers stared at each other.

Jack was an inch from him and Ianto stopped breathing again. Then he shuddered as he looked into the other man's blue eyes, the achingly familiar heady smell of all things _Jack_ filling his senses and making him dizzy.

He was afraid Jack would touch him. He was afraid Jack _wouldn't_ touch him. Ianto wasn't quite sure which alternative would be worse.

He had no chance to further deliberate on the topic when Jack's hands reached out, clasping onto his shoulders so deeply that it hurt. Their lips met slowly, an achingly innocent slide of mouths. It was everything. It was not enough. It was a catharsis and Ianto could feel himself melting under the delicate touch. He could feel Jack trembling. Or perhaps it was him that was falling apart? Perhaps they were falling apart together.

"Jack," Ianto whispered almost inaudibly against his lover's lips. Lips he knew better than his own. "Jack," he choked out again, emotion swelling inside of him.

"Yan," Jack whispered back so lowly that Ianto felt rather than heard the single syllable. Unable to control himself, Ianto closed his eyes, head tilting helplessly to deepen their chaste kiss.

Then a hair-raising shriek filled the air before Jack pushed him to the floor, jumping over Ianto to shield him from a snarling mass of half-starved Gyve.

* * *

The Gyve was strong, yes, but it wasn't very strategic. So when the alien turned her back to Johnson while clawing at Jack, the taciturn woman was able to get quite a few shots in—Johnson certainly wasn't one to balk at shooting her opponent in the back. Unfortunately, however, the adult Gyve was stronger than the "child" they faced before and the bullets seemed to do little more than enrage the alien further.

Jack was already bleeding quite heavily when the alien turned around to roar at Johnson Ianto noted with a sort of shell shocked detachment, although the deep gouges in his lover's shoulders and arms didn't seem fatal. Ianto quickly pulled himself and Jack from the floor, putting distance between them and the threat with practiced ease. Jack's blood was on his hands as he watched the creature bellow and shriek, watching them all warily while clearly trying to decide which of them was the greater threat. The now tall, slender humanoid figure was given no more chance at deliberation when a rather grim-looking Gwen shot it in the head.

As the creature crumbled, momentarily overcome, everyone looked to the two men for guidance.

After a pregnant pause, Ianto began to collect himself, surprised Jack hadn't stepped in with his usual overbearing leadership. Which suddenly made sense when the other man slumped against him, unconscious, but thankfully, not dead.

Ianto's tall, lean frame buckled under the weight of the bulkier man, but he was able to regain his footing well enough to lower them to the ground rather than crashing against it.

Then he took a deep breath, regained his calm, and began to speak.

"Johnson, secure the Gyve for transport back into the cells. The lockdown should be finished soon, and we'll bring it down together. Hopefully…" Ianto hesitated briefly before regaining his stride, "hopefully Jack will have answers as to what Gyves eat. Gwen, tend to Jack while I assist Johnson, please? And Lois, go and shadow Gwen, you haven't had much chance to learn first aid and now's as good a time as any," Ianto finished with a sigh.

Gwen, her slight bulge of her stomach seeming inordinately obvious from his position on the floor, made her way to Ianto and Jack, and Ianto felt a slight feeling of dismay. Gwen could have been injured in this ordeal—her _child_ could have been lost. That was just… unacceptable. Few Torchwood operatives lived long enough to have children, and, whether Gwen liked it or not, her unborn child had just been adopted by the whole of Torchwood Three.

And Ianto would do what he could to make sure Gwen's child was born. Perhaps Jack would have some success in convincing her to take her maternity leave in a few weeks. He couldn't, with good conscious, allow Gwen to put herself and her child in danger for much longer.

God. Jack was here. Now. In his _arms_.

Resisting the urge to rub at his eyes in helplessness, Ianto disentangled his body from Jack's and made his way over to Johnson, who looked utterly unflappable, but Ianto could detect a bit of uncertainty in her eyes. And Ianto knew exactly why.

A woman like Johnson lived off of 'causes'—she thrived on them. She was a soldier, willing to fight for her chosen commander so long as she knew who that commander was… and now, she was wondering how having Jack back would upset the status quo. She was wondering if Ianto was still the leader of Torchwood Three.

Ianto was wondering that himself.

He was wondering many things now, even as he donned his own unflappable mask (which was likely useless after how everyone saw him break down in Jack's arm's like a soldier's wife awaiting her absent husband's return) and checked the restraints Johnson put on the Gyve. They should hold. Then again, a steel door didn't hold against the alien's strength, so it wouldn't hurt to reinforce them a bit.

As he and Johnson hefted the unconscious alien off the floor, Ianto heard Gwen's murmurs to Lois, which cut off at a Jack's groan. Ianto stiffened his shoulders and walked a bit faster, using all of his strength not to turn back. He couldn't think of Jack, he _couldn't_, not when he had duties to attend to, not when he had yet to even process the events of this day…

God, Jack had _returned_.

How was he supposed to process that?

It didn't take Jack long to find him.

Ianto hadn't moved from his position outside of the Gyve's cell—a new cell, with quite a bit more reinforcement, as it had been their own folly in underestimating the strength of an alien just because she looked like a child. It still appeared to be unconscious, but after this night's debacle it didn't hurt to be overly cautious.

Ianto heard Jack before he saw him, the steps of the man's shoes (recognizable simply because the thick leather monstrosities had been out of fashion for nearly thirty years) falling against the slightly damp concrete. And one would think, after rebuilding the Hub from scratching using advanced alien technology, that UNIT would be able to fix the leak over the top of the containment cells.

When Jack was nearly a foot from him, Ianto figured he could no longer ignore the man's presence.

The first thing he noticed was that Jack was still wearing the shirt he had passed out in, complete with the shredded arms and bloodied gashes. For all that his clothing made him look ghastly, at least his color had improved.

Jack stopped short of touching him, opening his mouth to say something before seeming to think better of it and shaking his head with a rueful shake of the head.

"I don't know why I'm so surprised," Jack murmured, his voice deep and echoing against the concrete walls. "It's not like members of this team have a good track record of staying dead."

Surprised by Jack's words, Ianto nearly snorted. "I would say that we've had quite a few successes in that area as of late." Tosh, Owen, hell, even Suzie… God, it shouldn't still hurt this much to think about them.

"I supposed you're right," Jack said, smiling sadly.

"So…" Jack began before trailing off faintly, clearing not knowing what to say. Ianto didn't have the faintest clue on what to say either.

Ianto racked his brain for a way to stop this from becoming the singularly most uncomfortable awkward silence of his life.

Well, it never hurt to go with the basics. "Yes, sir?"

Jack let out an almost tearful laugh. "What would it take for you to never call me 'sir' again?"

"For you to say sincerely that you didn't like it," Ianto replied with practiced ease, smiling slightly when he saw lover's—_Jack's_—exasperated expression. It was a question that Jack had asked often, with Ianto always responding with the same answer. "Although…" Ianto began thoughtfully, "It might make things a bit confusing now for the team."

Jack gave him a confused look but didn't go along with that train of thought. Instead, he asked the question that had clearly been burning in him since he came down to the cells. "Yan, I saw you die. I _felt_ you die in my arms," Jack's voice broke, the harsh sound of it nearly making Ianto flinch. "The coroner told us that your lungs were liquid, that you'd drowned in your own insides. Tell me, how could you possibly come back from that? I _need_ to know, because a very small logical part of me wants to put you in one of those cells, and I mean that with the littlest possible offense."

Ianto, whose eyes had strayed away from Jack's to avoid the sheer pain exuding from them, turned back to look at the man who never failed to get a rise out of him. "I'm surprise Gwen didn't tell you the whole sordid tale by now. And under what authority, exactly, do you think you'd be able to lock up me up under?"

"She tried to, but I told her I'd rather hear it from you," Jack said with a frown. "And what do you mean by _what authority_?"

"Exactly what I said," Ianto snapped, ignoring the first part of Jack's question. "You've left the Earth—Torchwood—for the second time and this time we haven't held your place like children waiting for Tad to come home. This time we had to build this organization from the ground up without you, so I quite think that your authority lock _anyone_ up has been effectively revoked."

"_Wait_. Wait! Can we just rewind for a second?" Jack asked weakly, clearly not expecting an attack. "I just wanted to know how you came back."

"After threatening to lock me up in a cell, that is quite the technique you have of making people open up to you," Ianto snarked, irrationally angry, but too tired to really get control of himself.

"I wasn't—that wasn't a threat, Ianto!" Jack snapped, his temper finally making an entrance. "What in the hell's wrong with you?"

One of Jack's arms, which had always had a mind of their own, reached up to touch Ianto's face, but the younger man moved out of the way, knowing that Jack's touch would make it hard to maintain his anger. And right now, he wanted to hold on the feeling of being so utterly _pissed_ _off_ that rational thought was neigh impossible.

"Nothing's wrong with me."

"Then why won't you tell me how you came back?" The man persisted, his eyes roving over Ianto's angry, tired expression with caution and concern.

"Could it ever occur to you that after dealing with a proper Hub lockdown and seeing my wayward lover return from space, I might need a good's night's rest before divulging everything terrible that's happened since you've swanned off?"

Jack reached for him again and Ianto forcefully pushed his hand away.

Jack sighed in frustration. "Swanned _off_? Why are you acting like this, Ianto? Honestly, all I want to do right now is make sure you're alright and you won't even let me touch you!"

"I can assure you I'm quite alright," Ianto snarled back, horrified to find that tears were burning in the back of his eyes. "I just can't _do_ this right now."

"But—" Jack immediately started to protest.

"Just… can you control your need to know everything for one night?" Ianto shook his head. "I'd rather not be subjected to the third degree when we have a dangerous, starving alien in the Hub that's already escaped once."

Jack opened his mouth, face gaining that thunderous expression that Ianto wished he didn't know so well. However, miraculously, Jack sighed loudly and nodded cautiously. "Alright, just for the night. But first thing tomorrow…" Jack trailed off meaningly.

Ianto ignored him quite studiously. "Now, our records on Gyves are a bit spotty, so—"

"Spotty? I wrote that report myself," Jack immediately protested, though Ianto was sure it was mostly for show.

"Which would be half the problem," Ianto responded drily. "As interesting as it was to read up on your sexscapades with dangerous alien life forms, it hardly told me what I was supposed to feed the Gyve to keep it from going on a starving, murderous rampage."

"I suppose you're right," Jack said quietly, and Ianto noticed that the man was quickly invading his personal space. "I know what they eat. It's pretty exotic for these parts, but I can get what a need fairly quickly. Don't worry about it."

Ianto nodded reluctantly, turning to look at the still unconscious alien. He hoped Jack was able to get it some food before it woke again, the last thing they needed was a repeat of—

Ianto was startled from his thoughts when Jack's hand reached out for his arms, pulling the Welshman almost harshly into his arms before Ianto could protest. The smell of sweat and blood and _Jack_ hit him before he could offer up any resistance, and Ianto was unable to do more than make a token attempt to move away from the man.

He froze, however, when he felt the telltale feel of hot tears wetting the skin above his collar.

"Just let me hold you for a moment," Jack choked out, his words muffled against Ianto's neck. "Just let me... for a few minutes." Jack's voice had a pleading quality to it that Ianto hadn't quite heard for a while. Ianto wished he had the power to push away, but he wasn't quite that strong yet. He wasn't sure he would ever be.

"Just for a bit," Ianto said reluctantly, unable to stop his body from relaxing in Jack's powerful arms.

A bit of time passed before either of them moved, although Jack's tears had long stopped. When the older man's grip on him began to loosen, however, Ianto figured it was time to move away from the intoxicating embrace.

Jack didn't let him get very far. In fact, he maintained a few bit of contact by running a gentle hand over Ianto's lightly curling hair, following the loose curls as they fell over Ianto's ears. "The hair's new."

Ianto unconsciously closed his eyes at the intimate touch. "I need a trim," Ianto admitted.

"Don't," Jack appealed softly. "I like it. Makes you look… young."

Reason came back and Ianto moved out of Jack's reach, almost angry with himself for enjoying the attention. "More the reason to cut it," Ianto said decisively. "Can't have everyone thinking the new leader of Torchwood just left his teens." And oh, yes, Ianto _had_ said that just to see the uncomprehending look on Jack's face.

"…What?"

* * *

Jack wasn't quite sure what had happened. One minute, he was running into Torchwood, knowing his lover was dead, sure that some tasteless bastard of an alien was taking his form, and the next thing he knew, Ianto was alive due to some mysterious circumstance—and whatever had brought him back had done something rather significantly _bad_ to his attitude.

Well, perhaps that wasn't fair.

He could see the lines of stress running through the lean frame he knew so well, noticed the way that Ianto's eyes shone with desperation and love and sadness (for although Ianto had a wonderful poker face, his eyes always gave him away), and he knew that Ianto still loved him. That he missed him.

But things had changed. And Jack hadn't been here.

Hell, Ianto was in charge of Torchwood now.

And wasn't that a bitter pill to swallow? It was something Jack found difficult to digest even as he looked into getting some prime Gyve grub (they lived off of a type of plankton that was only indigenous to the Mediterranean on Earth mixed with a few semi-rare medicinal herbs) on the Hub's mainframe. A few clicks and it was on its way, overnighted. One crisis averted then.

Gwen was gone, convinced by Jack and Lois to go home after the night's excitement. She was looking out for two now after all. Lois had gone as well, her nervousness around him quite sweet, and Jack would have tried to flirt a bit more had he been in a better mood.

The only people left in the Hub were him and Ianto. Johnson had left only after Ianto ordered her to, as she seemed to think the Gyve might manage to escape again. No one had quite explained how she managed to become Torchwood, although the look on Gwen's face said it definitely hadn't been a unanimous decision.

Ianto seemed be avoiding him though. He had been since everyone else left and he explained how he came to be Torchwood's new leader—not that Jack didn't think him capable, of course he did. But, well, now that Jack was back…

And how funny was that? He returned to Earth against his will, sure he wasn't going to stay, and now there was no way he would leave.

Because Ianto was back. He still couldn't get his head around it. Ianto was back, _alive_. Alive enough to kiss him when they first saw each other, Jack thought with a smile.

Then he frowned.

He wanted to run up to Ianto, who was still puttering around in the Archives (stalling, no doubt), ravage him within an inch of his life, take a breather, and then do it again. That was what he dreamed of, in the moments when imagined how things might be different if Ianto had lived. He imagined showing Ianto just how much he had been missed, of giving him so many orgasms that he passed out before Jack was done—that plan was hindered somewhat by the fact that Ianto would hardly let him within an arm's length. If he didn't know any better, he would say that Ianto had been grieving for Jack as much as Jack had been grieving for him, and yet, something was holding Ianto back from him.

Was it the way he came back to life? It couldn't have been pleasant considering how much Ianto avoided the topic.

That was part of it, he was sure. But he was just as sure that Ianto was avoiding him because of what had happened the day he died, or at least the day Jack thought he'd died. Because, really, who responded to their dying lover who had just professed love to him with "Don't?" What kind of a bastard did that?

Jack ran a tired hand across his face. Apparently, he was just _that_ kind of bastard.

Well, then.

There was only one thing for it—one hell of an apology. Preferably with makeup sex.

Ianto had just finished administering another dose of sedative to the Gyve via the air of its cell when he heard Jack heading for him again.

God. Was there no reprieve?

"I thought you were dealing with that food situation," Ianto called out before the man could make to him.

"Done and done, oh fearless leader," Jack said, a shadow of a smirk on his face.

Ianto glowered silently for a moment before speaking. "If you want to mock, you might as well leave."

Jack frowned, which somehow only seemed to accentuate the dimple in his chin—the dimple Ianto loved. Damn it. "I wasn't mocking. Promise."

Ianto gave him a tired look. "Did you want something?"

Jack seemed to gather himself up for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, as a matter of fact I did. There seems to be a bit of something," Jack gestured between them, "unfinished here."

Ianto swallowed uncomfortably. Was Jack really going to draw this out? "Well, don't fret, sir. I assure you that can be easily remedied—it's finished." He turned slightly so that the grief on his face wouldn't be quite so apparent.

"W-What?" Jack stammered and it was slightly gratifying to hear. "I'm not—I don't want to break up, Ianto! What's wrong with you? I know that things were said, that I could have handled the situation better—"

"And what situation might that have been exactly?" Ianto snapped out, turning back to face Jack completely.

"Well, you know," Jack muttered uncomfortably.

"You can't even say it can you? What I clearly feel and what you clearly don't."

"I came down here to apologize, Ianto! So that we can figure this out together and—"

"And what, Jack? So that we can go back to Weevil hunting with a bit of shagging on the side? Back to how it was before?" Ianto mocked.

Jack paced, clearly frustrated. "And what's wrong with that? Things weren't so bad that you can just want to walk away. I mean, Ianto, I want this, I want us. All that time I was gone, you can't tell me that you weren't feeling the same thing."

"Half of that time I was dead!"

Jack stepped back slightly, either surprised by his words or the volume of them. "The dead don't exactly desire anything, Jack."

Ianto continued, laughing bitterly. "And what did you expect, exactly? I wake up and everything's different—you're gone, Torchwood's in shambles, and it's all I can do to help Gwen put it back together. I'm not the shrinking violet you're used to—I won't wilt just because you're not here. Or fall into your arms when you decide to stop gallivanting around the galaxy." Ianto knew he was being a bit unfair, but he couldn't make himself care very much. He was tired of being the rational one, the one who never lashed out because he was too busy cleaning up behind everyone else's shit. Jack was standing in front of him with those damned _eyes_, beautiful and sorrowful and Ianto just couldn't take it.

He couldn't allow himself to be taken in by Jack so easily—it hurt too much.

"And you say that as if I knew you were alive and left anyway. I wouldn't have left if you hadn't… if I hadn't thought… I just… explain to me what I've done wrong!" Jack pressed on, too persistent to be deterred.

Ianto wanted to hit him.

"Because Jack! I was here, alone and scared, and I know you didn't leave out of spite—I know you really thought that I was dead—but you were still gone. You still left, escaped. Do you really expect to pick up where we left off when I don't even know what I am anymore? Really? Have you lost your mind?" _And there's the fact that I said I love you as I died, but let's forget that, please?_

"Because I care about you, Ianto! Whatever's going on, whatever brought you back, we can deal with it together—"

"You care about plenty of things, Jack. You care about the entire bloody world and I'm supposed to believe I'm somehow special? Especially when you've made it explicitly clear that I'm not? You always brag about your sexual prowess, about how getting laid is child's play for you—well, perhaps you should find someone who doesn't care if you remember their name in the morning."

Jack look so wounded and hurt by his words, but Ianto could only take some sort of perverse satisfaction in the fact. God, what did that say about him? "Do you really mean that, Ianto?"

"I said it, didn't I?"

Jack's eyes hardened. "But you don't mean it, do you?"

Ianto hesitated, deflating slightly. "I…"

"You know that you can't just walk away from me," Jack said quietly. "You can't pretend like we have nothing together."

"And what do we have, exactly, Jack?" Ianto cried out desperately, his blue eyes shining out almost unnaturally behind the film of tears. "The days the 456 began the attack, even before, I must have heard 'I don't do relationships' a million times! And if it's not a relationship, then what is it, this thing between us? A game? I can't—I can't play games, Jack. Not again, not anymore. Not even for you."

Ianto stopped speaking for a moment, the words he was trying to say caught in his throat momentarily before he found the strength. "Because I love you, Jack, although it makes me a fool. And it h-hurts to much to be with you when you don't feel the same."

Jack stood there, mouth agape slightly. The sight almost made him want to laugh, if his throat hadn't been clogged up with pain and tears. He'd said it again—that dreaded "L" word, and this time he couldn't blame it on dying. Now all he had to do was wait. He wouldn't have to walk away from Jack, for once the man regained his senses, he would be the one running. Jack Harkness was fearless, but there was one thing that would send him running for the stars: any mention of love.

And so Ianto waited. Waited for Jack to leave, so that he could fall apart in peace and find a way to put himself back together again. He'd done it once before, with Lisa, and he could manage it again.

But Jack didn't leave. He pinned Ianto with a pained, intense gaze, and spoke. "Is that what you really think? That you're just a game to me?"

Ianto shrugged, his face an indiscernible mask. He moved to turn around and make his escape to Archives, not prepared to deal with Jack's platitudes or special brand of emotional baggage, when a steel grip attached itself his arm, pulling him back to face Jack.

Ianto tried to pull away, thinking that Jack was going to yell, but he should known better. Instead, the man did what he did best.

Ianto's mouth was attacked, his resistance melting away as if it had never existed to begin with. The feeling of Jack's lips against his, their tongues twirling together in a familiar and ferocious dance—the most passionate dance he'd ever taken part in—caused Ianto to moan as he reached up, putting a hand in Jack's hair as he held on for his life. Jack's hands were against his waist, his strong fingers spread and digging into Ianto's skin like claws through the layers of his suit, but that somehow made everything better. It was the truth. Amidst the euphoria that was Jack Harkness, there was pain, always pain. But… Ianto groaned as Jack bit into his lower lip before licking at it in apology and carefully remapping his mouth tenderly… but the pain was never quite enough to stop.

This feeling. Jack gasped into his mouth as if he felt it too. This feeling. Ianto once thought it was the love between them that burned and hurt so wonderfully. When Jack kissed him like this, he could feel the most powerful of emotions, and it was hard to imagine that they were all coming just from him. Every time Jack kissed him like this, it felt like an "I love you".

Then it ended far too quickly. Jack stopped, still holding onto him painfully, their lips glistening with each other's saliva. Almost as if he couldn't resist, Jack touched his mouth again with a short, tender kiss. Still touching lips, he whispered, "Now tell me that isn't the kiss of a man that loves you."

Ianto sobbed, shaking his head before burrowing his face into Jack's neck. Ianto held onto Jack desperately. He didn't quite believe him, but Jack had always been his weakness, his drug. The Welshman had promised himself that he would be strong, that he would never fall into this trap again, but when he felt Jack's arms around him he likened it to the feeling of a sticky and treacherous web, and he realized—suddenly—that he'd never escaped Jack's web in the first place. Perhaps he never would.

But when Jack held him like this, he didn't care so much.

**TBC**


	10. A Truth Not So Common

**Summary**: Jack isn't the only Torchwood member with restorative powers. At least, not anymore. Jack/Ianto—Post COE.

**Rating**: R++ overall, this individual chapter…. PG-15ish?

**Warnings for this chapter**: Profanity, violence, angst… and that's it for now?

**Disclaimer**: In no way, shape, or form do I claim any ownership over the Torchwood/Doctor Who Universe. This is a slash fanfiction. Don't like it? Don't read it!

**Author's note**: So, we now have the return of Captain John Hart. Gotta love a man's who not afraid to be a homicidal maniac, huh?

Also, there's a bit of filler in this chapter, but stick with me and we'll be getting to the good parts soon.

This chapter: John hates 21st century humans; Jack and Ianto look after each other.

ALSO: Thanks to my wonderful betas, **Vittani** and **ArizonaGarbage**, for looking over this chapter for me!

**Chapter Nine: A Truth Not So Common**

"Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do."

William Shakespeare, _As You Like It_: Act III, Scene 2

Captain John Hart was not amused.

Standing outside on wet sidewalks, giving everyone the eye was fun for a time (if only to get reactions out of these poor primitive folk. Twenty-first century humans were so sexually repressed that a misplaced wink might start a brawl, which was only worth the effort if the blokes could actually throw a decent punch), but it had far passed the amusing stage and was moving deeper and deeper into the unbelievably dull stage.

Let's not mention the fact that he wasn't back on Earth out of his own doing—he wondered if he would _ever_ get to this mud-ball of a planet without somebody dragging him by the short hairs. This whole threaten-Captain-Hart's-life thing was getting a bit tedious, even for him. Which was saying much, because he'd always enjoyed a good death threat. Especially if the one dealing it might be able to follow through.

But there was nothing "good" about this.

John was pulled out of his thoughts as a lovely dark-skinned girl walked by with more skin exposed than covered, sashaying in a way that attracted more gazes than just John's, but that was all it was. A lustful stare. Nothing behind it. She wasn't the One.

But who the hell was it, then?

The clock was ticking, and he was still no closer to securing eternal life—or any life once nine months is over, really.

See, he'd gone to see a woman about a myth. An impossible myth that made an impossible promise, but John had seen enough impossible things in his life that it hardly seemed like a terrible choice to make. Because, back then, John thought he knew who he wanted and that the only way to get his ex-lover's attention was to become like him—immortal.

Except, to quote the Old Earth cliché, things didn't exactly "go as planned."

Got the whole youth thing, but the eternal bit isn't quite right. Not yet. Not without… without something John was almost certain didn't exist.

Love.

The word itself left a chalky, bitter taste in his mouth.

On his planet, love was a fairytale. Granted, it wasn't that way for all humans from his time. Silly little beach colonists like Jack grew up in backwards communities with all kinds of Old Earth customs—monogamy (though the man rarely practiced it), religion, and the belief in true love, to name a few.

John never believed in any of that tripe filth, at least not until Jack-bloody-Harkness swooped in and saved the day—and in an instant he fell in love with the man's ridiculous bravado and stupid, cheesy grin.

Except, that wasn't true, now was it?

That woman—if you can really call the thing that simultaneously blessed and cursed him a woman—ripped open his mind in the worst kind of rape, forced him to face the truth of his own feelings. Showed him that he never really loved anyone, even though he had came dangerously close with Jack.

Selfish, self-destructive obsession, now that was John's poison of choice. That's what he'd felt for Jack, with a healthy dose of denial and jealously thrown in the mix.

But now, because John invoked an ancient, spiteful myth of a woman by promising he would do anything to attain "forever", he had to look for his "one true love" in a time so backwards people still believed they were alone in the universe.

Imagine that.

He _hated_ 21st century humans. So stupid, with tiny little brains and even tinier imaginations. Unable to see anything beyond the tip of their noses, with a pesky penchant for dying far too easily. Most of them couldn't even imagine that a man like John _existed_, and if they did, "scared shitless" wouldn't even begin to cover the fear they would feel.

If he had to be paired up with one of these primitive apes, he only hoped it would be a woman.

The last thing he needed was to be running after a homophobic little bastard harboring more than one homoerotic fantasy in his repressed little mind.

Did John mention that he hated 21st century humans?

Bloody hell, he needed a drink. Or, you know, twelve.

Ianto's flat still bore the marks of a man who hadn't quite moved in yet. Boxes were stacked along the walls, although the younger man had seemed to unpack a large portion of the furniture. It wasn't surprising that things weren't completely organized yet (despite the fact that the place was disturbingly clean for someone who was in the process of unpacking), since Jack knew from personal experience that one was left with little spare time after assuming control of Torchwood Three.

Ianto's sigh of frustration reached his ears as the younger man sat down on a leather couch. Jack wanted to ask if he was alright, but he was sure Ianto would never be "alright" again.

People changed after facing death in this way. If you remembered the darkness, nothing else would ever be the same.

And even though Jack didn't know what had happened to the younger man yet, he knew it had to be causing quite the mind-fuck. Hell, there were times that Jack—when truly faced with the reality of his own immortality—wanted to fall to the floor screaming and thrashing around like an angry toddler.

He didn't, of course, (except for, maybe, that one time) but it _was_ tempting.

Ianto clapped twice and lights came on from the ceiling, causing Jack to raise an eyebrow.

"Shut up," Ianto muttered in an embarrassed way before Jack could even think of something witty to say. "When I was… the landlord had them installed. Apparently they're 'all the rage,'" he groused, drawing the quotes with his fingers. "I just think it's a reason for the bugger to go up on the rent an extra hundred."

Jack didn't respond, but he sat down next to Ianto. The young man endured the uncomfortable energy between them for all of a few moments before popping up, mumbling something about coffee. Jack caught him by the arm, halting his motion.

Ianto gave him a frustrated look, which soon morphed into a slightly rueful expression. "It's horribly awkward between us right now. I don't do awkward well—you should know that."

Jack smiled. "Right. Go make your coffee, then."

When Ianto moved towards the kitchen, Jack moved with him. "Making coffee is not a two person process, Jack," Ianto called from over his shoulder as he turned on his machine. "Especially when the point of me making it is to move away from you."

"Maybe not," Jack agreed, pretending that last comment hadn't hurt, leaning against the marble kitchen counter. "But I'm not ready to let you out of my sight yet."

"You might want to work on making that sound a little less creepy," Ianto replied after a pause, still facing away from him. "Unless that's what you're going for, of course."

Jack laughed quietly, enjoying Ianto's dry way of speaking. Galaxy above, he'd missed that. "You're still as witty as I'd remembered."

Ianto rolled his eyes, although the older man could hardly see. "I was dead twelve weeks, Jack, not twelve years."

The sudden silence that followed was nothing short of agonizing.

Turning around to face the other man and seeing the pained look on his face, Ianto sighed. "Jack, what I said earlier… I didn't mean… I can only imagine what it must have felt like to think that I'd died."

"Honestly?" Jack responded after a moment. "It felt like my world had ended. No, worse than that. Because I knew that, no matter what, I would have to survive whatever tragedy was thrown at me—not because I wanted to but because I didn't have any choice. You can't imagine how that feels, knowing that you'll have to watch everything die and turn to dust. Knowing that, one day, you'll be the only thing left," he finished quietly, eyes averted.

Ianto swallowed, staying silent for a moment.

"Is it always such a curse, Jack? To live forever, I mean?" Ianto murmured finally, looking as if his whole life depended on Jack's answer.

Jack shrugged, suddenly not willing to respond.

Knowing the moment was over, Ianto turned back to the counter in a deft move, turning on the settings of his coffee maker. After a moment's pause, he reached to the cabinet above his head to retrieve a bottle of whiskey and then moved to another cabinet to pick out a can of condensed milk.

"Irish cream?" Jack asked from behind him, sounding faintly impressed. "You've never made that for me before."

"You never seemed very interested in alcohol," Ianto countered while reached for a bottle of heavy whipping cream in his fridge, back still turned. "You must have had all of three drinks since I've known you."

"Yeah, well, things change," Jack replied darkly as he remembered himself drowning in alcohol for the first weeks after Ianto's death.

Things stayed silent between them until the drinks were finished, Ianto handing Jack a plain blue mug while sipping out of his own red one. Covertly watching as Jack took his first swallow, Ianto felt a bit of smug delight at the way the man's eyes nearly rolled back into his head.

"Good?" Ianto asked, hiding his smirk behind his mug. Some things never changed.

Jack gave him a knowing look. "As if you don't already know the answer to that. Come on, let's sit back down."

Ianto let Jack lead him back to the couch, as most of the nervous energy between them had dissipated.

Tucking his feet underneath him, Ianto realized with a grimace that he was still wearing his suit. He'd rather take a shower and change into something a little less stiff, but undressing in the apartment with Jack there was similar to waving a red cloth in front of an angry bull.

"So," Jack began, squirming slightly.

Ianto raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"You said you would tell me how you came back."

"I said I would tell you tomorrow morning," Ianto countered smoothly, rolling his eyes. Never let it be said that Jack didn't have a one-track mind.

"Yeah, well, it's tomorrow morning," the other man said, tilting his head towards the clock on the wall. "12:45 am to be exact."

Resisting the urge to throw his coffee at Jack's face, Ianto sighed. "I'd forgotten how much of a bastard you could be."

Then, for some inexplicable reason, he began to talk.

"Well, I don't remember anything between the time that I… died and when I woke up," Ianto began softly.

"Not even the darkness?" Jack interrupted, eyes roving over Ianto's face.

"Well," Ianto replied with a grimace, "I do remember a bit of that, although I wish I didn't."

"You would have been there for so long," Jack said quietly, trying not to imagine his lover lost there for weeks.

"It only seemed like a split second, honestly," Ianto admitted. "Next thing I know, I'm waking in my own coffin. Wonderful surprise, that."

Jack's back straightened suddenly, his eyes cutting into Ianto's. "You _woke_ up in your grave?"

Ianto nodded jerkily.

"But how in the hell did you get out?"

"I dug my way out," Ianto replied after a pause, but Jack was already shaking his head.

"Ianto, there's no way you got yourself out of that grave. You would have died from asphyxiation long before you were able to even to begin digging! Not to mention the weight of the casket lid with dirt piled on top—no way could your oxygen starved body have had the strength to lift it."

"And you don't think I already know that?" Ianto hissed back furiously. "What I did shouldn't have been possible, but…" He hesitated, not wanting to say what he'd been thinking for so long.

"But?" Jack prompted.

"It… it felt like I couldn't die," Ianto finished with an almost whisper, eyes moving to meet Jack's.

"W-What?" Jack gaped, his mouth open as he gasped out the word harshly.

"I said it felt like I couldn't die!" Ianto yelled back, springing to his feet before beginning to pace. "I felt like it took hours to get myself out, all the while, my lungs were slowly roasting, burning, burning from the lack of air but I couldn't die! I can't even begin to account for what happened to me there," Ianto finished with a shudder, still pacing.

Jack stood as well, stopping Ianto in mid-pace. "Stop it. You're making me dizzy. Just… are you _sure_? Sure that something didn't help you get out?"

"Positive," Ianto snapped, scrubbing a hand over his head. "I could feel my nails tearing, fingers cramping as I dug my way out, the feeling of all that dirt swallowing me, holding me down and crushing my chest. God, the _taste_ of it," Ianto choked out. "I don't think I'll ever forget the taste of it choking me."

"I know," Jack responded quietly, holding him steady. "I know." And Ianto realized after a moment that Jack _did_ know what it was like. "I would have given anything to not have you feel what I felt all those years ago."

"God," Ianto whispered finally, his hands grabbing at the other man's jacket. "How did you stand it? All those years, Jack! You must have been in so much pain."

Jack shook his head, smiling sadly. "It was bad, not going to deny that, though not as bad as you're probably imagining. After the first few dozen deaths or so, my body stopped resurrecting. I think it was because there was no more air left where I was, so my body couldn't draw on anything to keep waking me up. If I did wake up at all, it must have been for seconds at time… and I can't remember it."

"That's probably best. If you would have actually remembered…" Ianto left the rest unsaid, shuddering.

"And after you got out?" Jack asked after a moment. "What happened then?"

Ianto shrugged, trying not to feel overwhelmed the warmth of Jack's hands against him. "Walked back to the Hub, discovered Gwen never logged me out of the system, took a shower… the rest is, as they say, history."

"History," Jack mused, their lips nearly touching. "And you haven't noticed anything odd since then?"

Ianto's slight look to the side gave him away.

"What?" Jack asked warily.

"Just… just small things," Ianto responded quietly. "Things that only I would notice. I even tried to use the scanner we used on Owen after you brought him back; to see if something was changing inside me, but it only blinks now… the explosion damaged it. I'm not even sure if it's salvageable."

"Let's go back to these 'little things'," Jack said with a frown. "Just what have you noticed?"

"This is going to sound silly," Ianto began. "It's… well, I suppose it's better if I show you."

He moved towards his bathroom, Jack following him closely. Turning on the harsh fluorescent lights in the spacious room, Ianto turned to the other man, fidgeting nervously. "Do you see it?" Ianto asked, pointing to his head.

"See what?" Jack asked curiously before he noticed. "Your hair, it's sort of burgundy-ish in the light," he remarked after a pause. "Kind of cute, really."

Ianto paused in his nervous movements. "Really?"

"Definitely," Jack responded immediately. "Goes well with your skin and eyes."

Ianto looked pleased for a moment, before rolling his eyes. "Yes, well, that's hardly the point. My hair's never done this before, so unless I tinted it and somehow forgot—"

"It's part of the transformation that brought you back," Jack finished for him. "Anything else you noticed?"

"Not really, other than my chest hair falling out and an odd skin thing, that is."

Jack's eyes widened. "Did you check for—"

"Radiation? Of course," Ianto scoffed. "What do you take me for, a fool? There's nothing that would suggest I've been affected by anything of the sort."

"Okay then," Jack replied, stressing the word. "It's obvious some miracle didn't bring you back, so we have to assume that what ever did, did so for its own purpose. A purpose that may not—"

"Be benevolent. I know, Jack. God, I've been able to think of little else since I came back," Ianto nearly growled out, trying to avoid the other man's eyes only to find them again in the mirror's reflective surface. "But it's looking like, until this thing shows itself, we're not going to know how I'm back, or why. The only thing we can do is wait."

"And how is that working for you?" Jack asked astutely.

"It's driving me fucking mad, to be perfectly honest," the younger man admitted wryly. "But it's not like I have much of a choice, do I?"

"Not really," Jack responded, his eyes moving from Ianto's eyes to his lips for the third time in two minutes. "But I can think of better things to do right now than continue this conversation," he added with a shadow of a grin Ianto knew far to well.

A rather flat stare was all Jack got in response.

"Or… not."

"That, Captain, may be the most intelligent thing you've said in a long while." Ianto moved away from other man, leaving the bathroom with Jack following closely behind him.

"Could you try to leave a _bit_ of my ego intact?" Jack muttered, a bit upset although he logically knew sex was highly unlikely at the moment.

Ianto snorted, negating a reply.

"Gee, thanks, Yan."

Ianto finally turned around at the sound of the bitterness in Jack's voice. "Look, Jack… I think that it's time for us to go to bed."

Jack nodded in agreement, following Ianto to the door of his room.

Ianto frowned. "And just what do you think you are doing?"

"You told me to go to bed."

"And what made you think I mean here?" Ianto asked archly. "There's linen in the hall closet, but you have to put it on the guest bed. I haven't had much of a chance to set up the other room."

"The guest room?" Jack asked incredulously. "I haven't been your guest in a _very_ long time."

Ianto gave him another one of those flat looks. "I'm exhausted and I just…" The younger man trailed off.

"You're really going to go to bed alone, aren't you?" Jack didn't sound hurt, surprisingly enough. In fact, he actually sounded a bit bemused.

"I need to think, Jack," Ianto replied quietly. "And I can't do that with you lying next to me."

Jack gave him a slightly frustrated look.

Ianto gave him an equally frustrated one. "Goodnight, Jack," he said, moving to close the door.

Jack halted the movement, putting a hand against the door.

"If you think I'm going to spend one day outside of your bed now, Ianto Jones, then you're not as smart as I thought you were."

Then, quicker than he should have been able to, Jack pulled Ianto in for a quick—and dirty—kiss. Moving Ianto backwards by sheer momentum, Jack found his way into the room before breaking the kiss.

"I'm staying right here," he snapped, emphasizing his point with a fierce expression. "You won't move me."

Ianto glared back. "Yes, well, be that as it may, I can certainly move myself." With that, Ianto left his bedroom, making a beeline for the bathroom. Jack made a move to follow him before thinking better of it, cringing at the sound of Ianto turning the lock on the door.

By the time Ianto left the shower, Jack had already stripped down to his boxers and made himself comfortable. He'd also submerged himself into quite the self-pitying, pouty sulk.

When Ianto returned to his room, dressed in pajamas, skin glowing and hair wet from the shower, Jack quickly pulled his petulant expression into something slightly less childish.

"Did you want something?" He asked archly, still a bit stung from Ianto's abrupt exit.

"My bed," Ianto answered evenly.

"Well, I told you before, I'm not leaving."

"I'm not asking you to." Ianto sighed heavily before continuing. "I… overreacted earlier. I'm sorry. Today has just been so…"

"I know," Jack agreed, his eyes softening. "We're out of sorts, which the lack of sleep definitely isn't helping. Just come to bed."

Ianto did exactly that, taking his customary position on the left side of the bed, leaving Jack the side closest to the door. Jack swallowed harshly, unable to stop himself from reaching for the other man and aligning his chest with Ianto's back. The younger man stiffened briefly, before, thankfully, relaxing and leaning back with a grateful sigh.

They lay against each other in silence for a few long moments.

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you come back? To Earth, I mean."

"It's a long story."

"One I'm expecting to hear in the morning. No more secrets."

"No more secrets," Jack repeated quietly, wondering how much Ianto was going to regret that promise when he found out Jack had been dragged back to Earth kicking and screaming by John Hart.

_Jack was overpowering, uncontrollable. It was easy to be that "teaboy" when he was around, easy to lose himself to the relief and passion and catharsis Jack had brought simply by returning. _

_That's why, when Jack pushed him on the bed, Ianto felt himself falling. He didn't remember hitting the soft fabric of his bed sheets, but he must have considering that Jack was already on top of him, hands insistently roving over pale, exposed skin. _

_He was somehow naked as well, but Ianto was hardly concerned with that now. Why wouldn't he be, with an equally naked Jack Harkness on top of him? Men have given up their lives for less. _

_Jack pulled away from his mouth for a moment to give him that look, the look that Ianto often imagined was a silent 'I love you.' Silent, because Jack could never say it. Silent, because Jack could never bring himself to utter the lie out loud. _

_But Ianto didn't dwell on the pain beginning in his chest as Jack looked down on him, instead concentrating on the strong hand that moved down his chest, skimming over his leg all the way to his knee, before moving upwards again, coming ever so close to where he wanted it to be. Closer… closer… almost _there_. _

_And all the while, Jack looked at him. Waiting for something. Perhaps for the expression on his face when Jack _finally_ stopped being a tease and bloody put his hand on Ianto's—_

Ianto woke suddenly to find Jack leaning over him, intent blue eyes locking on his own. For a moment, he thought he was still in the dream—the dream that had haunted him since he came back to life, but he _was_ dressed, and no matter how much Jack was leering at him now, they weren't about to have sex.

Ianto just wished his cock would get that message.

"Good dream?" Jack asked finally, his mouth moving into a grin. "I assume, of course, that I had a starring role."

Flushing, Ianto opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He was intimately aware of how he must have looked at that moment—face red, forehead beaded with sweat, breath coming out sharply. There was no hiding what he'd dreamed about. And now Jack was looking a bit too smug to be tolerated.

Eventually, he settled on something to say. "Too bad, really, that reality never lives up to fantasy."

Ianto was gratified to see Jack's mouth open incredulously. "You… you…"

"_Goodnight_, Jack," Ianto interrupted, turning around and trying to ignore the warm body of his indignant lover lying next to him.

There was silence for a few minutes. Ianto could feel himself drifting off again, but just as sleep was about to take him away, he felt Jack's warm breath on his ear. "Just wait, Ianto, just wait…"

**TBC**


End file.
